The Summer of Two Island
by Copper Hikari
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Brianna has a severe case of post-Hall-of-Fame delirium. She's become the very best, like no one ever was. What else does she have to do, if not visit a long-lost cousin on Two Island? She might even enjoy helping out her cousin's Pokemon Ranch and sticking in one place for more than a few days...That is, if Brianna's secrets don't catch up to her first.
1. Brianna

The Summer of Two Island

…

Chapter 1 - Brianna

I have been on this earth for as long as time can remember.

I have seen the rise and fall of man, the creation of the first Pokemon and the first contract between Pokemon and Trainer. Yet through it all, the strength and weakness of life has never ceased to amaze.

I had been following her since childhood.

Hers, not mine. For a teenage girl to comprehend my age would be wish upon her an aneurysm, at best.

I am Mew. I trust I need no introduction.

She is Brianna, a young girl. As I watched her step off the bus and find herself in Vermillion City once again, I felt a very certain satisfaction.

To the rest of the bus, she was just another girl. Sixteen, maybe seventeen years old at best. Brunette curls that looped toward the bottom, and bangs that hugged her forehead and framed hazel eyes. Chubby cheeks, a backpack and worn jeans.

Nothing special. Sullen, perhaps. Quiet. A bookish type.

Brianna's fellow bus passengers follow her out and wait for their luggage. Their first glimpse of Vermillon City—a run-down bus terminal with tile floors, plastic chairs, and routine brawls between the homeless—complements the engine exhaust aroma poignantly. It followed Brianna for weeks once she left the first time. It wouldn't wash out of her clothes. A permanent scar on the fabric, but she could remove a stained sweater or soiled shirt. Other scars would not be so easily forgotten.

I get ahead of myself!

Brianna always traveled light. She strolls inside the terminal, through the stained swinging doors and past the waiting travelers. Only young Trainers or old, feeble wash-outs rode the bus. You'd think there would be an exception but I promise you, no.

She walks out onto the sidewalk, then. The sun blinds her. She remembers this heat and shrugs. She packed light, meaning two shirts and one pair of pants. Nothing to alleviate the blaze overhead, but she did remember to bring something for her eyes.

She takes the hat from her bag and throws it on her head fast, like a cloak. A simple white plush cap. It made her recognizable, but that would be a good thing, where she was headed. Vermillion City did like her heroes.

The taxi pulls up. It rolls past her at first. When the older gentleman driving realizes his fare is old enough to be his daughter, yet pretty enough for him to forget, he pulls over. The door swings open.

Brianna slides in and closes the door. The taxi pulls into the also-iconic Vermillion traffic. More Trainers have been stopped by gridlock than by defeat on these roads.

She is quiet. Par the course, but it jars the taxi driver. The last time a kid rode in his cab with one bag and a deathly silence, he had ran out on the fare. That cost him a few bottles that night, for sure.

The taxi driver clears his throat. No reaction. Then, louder: "Kid?"

Brianna looks up, just enough that her eyes connect in the mirror.

"Where you headed?"

She reaches into her pocket. Brianna pushes the frayed, folded page through the dividing cab window. The driver scans it and nods. He got an answer, just not the one he wanted.

"Huntington," he says. The attempt to make conversation doesn't take. He has to jump-start: "I've got a few friends from Huntington."

The driver glances back again. Nothing.

Then, worse than nothing. The girl opens her bag and fiddles with something inside. No doubt her wallet. She's counting the money she doesn't have, he knows. She's wondering if it's okay to pay what she has and apologize the rest of the way. On another night, he might consider it. She's pretty, definitely. But not _that_ pretty.

"It should be about fifty bucks," he says.

Brianna perks up. She's awake, those hazel eyes wide.

"Here to Huntington," the driver repeats. "In case you don't have it, or something." Then, in the silence: "Just saying. You look pretty suspicious." Just for laughs: "What, you got a piece in there?"

She doesn't have a weapon, of course. Not necessarily.

Brianna's a bright child, but in social situations, she could certainly use prodding from time to time. She blinks once, twice, three times for the world, and then is fishing through the smaller bag pocket.

"I didn't mean to," she babbles.

The driver scrunches his eyebrows. "Didn't mean to what?"

She didn't mean to get in without paying. Brianna has ridden in more taxicabs than she cares to remember. She's just scattered, Driver Man. Nervous, even. One can fend off enemies with a steel demeanor, but seeing family after a long time will bring anyone to their knees.

I would know. But again, we're ahead of ourselves.

She shoves something through the divider again. The driver is panicked for a moment. With how strange the girl is, and how just insufferably _awkward_, she probably would be the type to try and rob him. Not that he's been robbed before. Some people are just paranoid. I'm sure you know.

When he's satisfied that it's not a gun or a knife, the driver takes the small item from her. He's never seen something like the red device before, snapped shut with its clear green light glistening. As if responding to his question, the front cover flips open. More buttons stare out at him. He almost steers into the wrong lane, his attention ensnared by the alien contraption.

He regards the screen carefully while the image fades to life. A quick word flashes. What the hell was a Pokedex?

The girl's face shows up. Name, birthdate, seal of the Indigo League…

When the final image blinks on, he nearly swerves the car. "Wait, what?"

"I'm sorry!" Brianna apologizes for nothing. It's a habit. "Is something the matter?"

He has to glance back in the rear-view mirror. It can't be the same person, can it? There's no way. But it _is_ her, with that haunting stare and that small nose, the bangs and even the hat. And League Certification was restricted to military, civil servants, that kind of thing.

Either this Pokedex thing was a very good forgery of…What was it supposed to even be a forgery of?

He has to pull off the Interstate and park. Brianna knows what's coming, but she lets the driver flip her Pokedex around a few more times. She wonders if the League keeps the existence of the Pokedex a secret for things just like this, for opportunities to show off to locals. Lord knows they love showing off. Brianna is not the show-off type, unfortunately.

The driver finds her in the mirror again. He's shaking his head, and Brianna's hearing his voice before he's saying it. "I can't accept this," he says.

"It's a Universal Pass," she reiterates. In case he can't read. And since he makes his living driving a car, well. "It's accepted by every transportation agency." She hopes she didn't stutter.

All the same, he passes the Pokedex back through the divider. He's sure it's legitimate. If he knew what it was supposed to be, that might mean something. It's a legitimate _something_.

Now, I've seen other people argue free rides from drivers. There are certainly people in this story who would have bartered the ride, and it wouldn't have been too hard.

That said, those people are them. Brianna is Brianna. She pocketed the Pokedex, and left the cab.

And wouldn't you know it, the driver felt awful right then. He realizes a second too late that she wasn't trying to swindle him, or rob him, or cheat him out of a ride. Certainly, there's no _way_ she has eight gym badges and is an Indigo League Champion, like her red thingy says, but she's not thief.

He sits in the cab and thinks it over. Brianna crosses the sidewalk, looking both ways like a good girl, and stands in the empty parking lot. She fishes through her bag and fumbles something. Her knees buckle. Her hat falls in her vision. It's pathetic. The driver feels like he kicked a small puppy.

He waits for the cars to pass, and then he gets out.

"Hey!" He calls, waves his arm. She doesn't see him. Again: "Hey, kid!"

Third time. "Hey, Brianna!"

She finds him across the street. It's too late, though. She zips the bag shut and pulls her arms through the straps. There's something else in her hand, but the driver can't quite make it out.

"Look, I'm sorry about that. I just need to be careful," the driver yells over the roar of traffic. "Come on, I'll take you for free. To Huntington, or wherever."

Brianna smiles the sweetest smile he'll see this year. To her credit, she never uses her power for evil. She doesn't think she's pretty enough to use it for evil, and personally, I'd rather she think that.

"Thank you, but I'm fine," she says. "I'll find my own way."

"You're being an idiot." He's getting angry, now. "There's no bus stop out here. The city doesn't start for five miles east."

"East?" Brianna confirms. "Thank you again. I don't know the way, but I'm sure I can figure it out on my own."

That shuts him up. She didn't say anything threatening, for sure. But she was fearless. Daringly so.

She adds: "I wouldn't want you to take my pass and get in trouble with your boss or anything."

He won't get back in the car. He suddenly wants to watch. There's no way she beat Lt. Surge, even if she _was _a Trainer. A small sweetheart of a girl like her? He laughs at the image.

Then she's throwing the ball in the air. He recognizes it from television, from the Internet, from the nightly news and all over the world. A Pokeball.

It bursts open in an explosion of the palest white light. The driver recoils when the brown blur of feathers races into the sky and swoops back to the parking lot.

The girl holds one hand out.

The driver is certain: whatever she just released will race down and slice her limbs off. At that speed, it's all but _certain_—

In the blink of an eye, she's suddenly off the ground. Head down and riding east, Brianna is a whisper on the wind.

The driver lets it process.

He laughs.

The guys will never believe this.

"League champion, huh?" He asks nobody.

The driver gets back in his cab, and his day goes on.

Brianna soars for Huntington, her fare as free as the wind at her back.

…

She knew it was an awful idea, flying to her aunt and uncle's home in Huntington. She was trying to avoid it at all costs, but sometimes things don't work out.

This first leg of the flight was easy. Nobody would notice her as she soared above the highway. If somebody saw her downtown, that somebody would have a story to tell, about the Trainer high overhead.

Huntington, a small suburb of the sprawling Vermillion City, was different.

It had strangled the life out of her mother and father. They lived in Huntington until college. They met in a film studies class, laughing at the presenter and his thick nerd glasses and high nerd grades. Both students were thrown out, at which point they met one another formally. Twenty years later, seventeen-year-old Brianna is flying to visit. These things happen.

Huntington was remembered for two things: its local fortune-teller industry that sank harder with each passing day, and its capacity to squish any other goals out of young people, like the guts of an unfortunate bug on the sidewalk.

She sees her aunt and uncle's home from overhead. The white one-story home in a quaint cul-de-sac, surrounded by trees. Brianna grew up in Celedon City. She had never lived with nature, and certainly had never seen it before her adventures.

As she lowers altitude, she promises herself that nothing will go wrong.

She had learned many things on the road, and of them: people who live surrounded by nature are not bad.

Oh, Brianna. How sweet. She still didn't know the difference between 'not bad' and 'not ignorant'.

When the ground is close enough, Brianna jumps from the back of her Pokemon, calling it back to its ball in the free-fall. She lands in a crouch, taking the force in her knees as only young people can.

When she stands up again, her relatives are waiting on the porch.

I'm willing to bet we all have relatives like these. Cindy and Chris, both fifty-somethings, never left Huntington. They lived in this neighborhood their entire lives, marrying classmates from high school. It only became 'their' house when Brianna's grandmother passed, only a handful of months ago. They seemed kind enough, Cindy with her hair pulled back and her thick glasses, and balding, paunchy Chris and his bright grin that belonged on a younger man.

Unfortunately, Huntington was still Huntington.

Brianna breaks the silence. "Hi," she said meekly. She waves a limp hand.

The corners of Cindy's aged lips form a concerned smile, all too late. Her brother takes initiative. "What in the hell was that?"

"What was…what?"

"That thing you flew here on," Chris bellows. He pushes the glasses further up his pudgy nose, expectant.

Brianna opens her mouth a second too late. He cuts her off: "What, are you too good for a car now that you're all famous?"

She was certainly _not_ famous, as we both know.

That said, the most famous person in Huntington gained the title by finishing her associates' degree in Community College before having children at the old age of twenty-three. The teenage Champion before them may as well have hailed from Olympus.

Or, as Chris was painfully aware, hailed from his rich and successful brother.

Cindy begins damage control. "Chris, don't be rude! I'm sure Brianna's tired from her flight." She beamed.

Brianna wasn't tired at all. But when someone throws you a bone… "I'm kind of hungry," she lies sweetly. That's my girl.

"Good!" Chris reaches inside the house for his coat. "We're taking you for lunch. You like Unovan food?"

Brianna nods.

"Of course she does!" Cindy adds happily. "I remember you used to love Unovan. From when you visited, remember?"

That particular visit was ten years ago. It was the last time they had spoken. "Yes'm," Brianna says.

"And still so polite." Cindy awes.

Chris locks the door and leads them to the truck parked in the garage. "It's a little ways down the road." Then: "Hope you're not too good for the back seat."

From here, they barrel down the desolate roads. The truck skids at every sudden stop, as though Chris had never seen them before. If she cared to notice, Brianna would have picked up on the tell-tale signs of annoyance. Chris grips the wheel too hard. He yanks on the emergency break, he slams his turn signal up and down. His entire face is curled up to the left, like he's smelling something strange.

"You're awfully quiet." Cindy tries again to make conversation. She's smiling in the mirror.

"Sorry," Brianna apologizes. "I've just…I haven't been in a truck in a long time."

She knows it's the wrong thing to say. She feels awful the instant the words leave her mouth, but it's the truth. There is nothing quite like watching the trees and small homes race by at a clip, the cab elevated off the ground and bouncing above powerful tires. It's nostalgic.

To Chris, it's anything but.

"That's interesting," Cindy says.

Brianna recognizes the restaurant from ten years ago. Really good noodles.

"Don't you remember?" Cindy asks. "You and Nathan started shoving chicken up your noses. Your father turned red like a beet." She's laughing, but only because she didn't know the full effect of Brianna's father's anger. It's not really a laughing memory.

They go inside and sit in a booth by the window. It's an all-you-can-eat kind of affair. Brianna has to tell her stomach to keep calm. If left unchecked, she might eat everything and puke it all up seconds later. She blames having to traverse Rock Tunnel with nothing but a pack of saltine crackers. She would never forget the hunger, she's sure.

The waiter shows up and explains how the food works. It's self-explanatory: take what you want, twenty dollars a head. Brianna has the social tact to not offer to pay. Though the way Chris glares as he hands over the money, she might as well have slapped her own money on the table.

Finally, the question of the day. Say it, Mister Waiter.

"Would you like anything to drink?"

Twenty minutes and two pitchers of beer later, Chris asks Brianna if she can drive them home.

"I can," she says. "I've never driven a truck…And I haven't really driven at all in a year or so. But I'm sure I can manage."

Chris pushes his third plate aside. He sees an opportunity. "Nathan's a hell of a driver," he boasts. "The factory promoted him to head of shipments. You should see the kid, he's like that…that fast racing guy on TV."

"Speed Racer?" Cindy offers.

"Yeah, that guy." Chris takes a sip. "It's too bad he couldn't make it out today, Bri. He's really made something of himself. Pulled up from his bootstraps kind of kid. He'd have some stuff to teach you about the real world."

Brianna nods. She hasn't heard anything about Nathan since he dropped out of Vermillion University in his first semester. She wants to ask if the kid was his after all, but thinks better of it. "Where does he work?"

"Silph opened a factory by Diglett Tunnel," Cindy explains, pride seeping from her pores. "He's already been promoted to head driver. He's trying to get an apartment. Right now he's living with a friend, but that's just temporary."

"Congratulations for him!" Brianna says sincerely.

It's another ten-minute silence. The food isn't quite as good as she remembers.

"So!" Cindy thinks, third time is the charm. "What are you doing these days?"

Brianna asks a question, but her gob is stuffed full.

"Now that you're a bigshot Champ," Chris says, forcing himself to be supportive. "I remember after your father graduated, he had no idea what to do. Then he just packed up and left with your mother…You're not gonna do something that random, are you?"

Brianna tells the truth. She should have lied. "I don't really know yet."

Now, let's be frank.

A Hall of Fame Champion is already down in the history books. Civilization as humans understand it could burn to the ground, and archives would still show Brianna's name. If she wanted to work as a gym leader, all she needed to do was snap her fingers. Or, if she wanted to explore other countries, she could do so for free with her Universal Pass. The world was hers. Brianna was at no dearth of options, she just wanted to choose the best one.

Huntington belongs to people without options.

"Of course she doesn't know!" Chris throws a hand in the air. "That's what happens when you choose Pokemon over yourself. You end up _screwed_."

"Chris!" Cindy scolds. She turned to her niece. "I'm sorry, he's not normally—"

"It's the truth, Cindy. You agreed with me a few hours ago, come on."

Cindy's face pales.

Chris continues. "It's what I told Sophia: if you get involved with Pokemon, you end up with a bunch of funky ideas and nothing to do to make ends meet. I mean, Bri. Look at your aunt and I. We're fortune tellers. We get on okay, don't we, Cindy?"

They didn't make nearly as much as fortune tellers who had psychic Pokemon for assistance. Brianna knew it, and Cindy knew it.

"We get on okay," Cindy agrees meekly.

A few hazy memories come back to Brianna, but only just. "Sophia?"

"You don't remember Sophia?" Cindy asks. Her voice starts to slur. "Oh, right! Of course you wouldn't remember her. You were just babies. Your grandmother would take you both out to play by the shore. You were the best of friends."

Cindy smiles, both at Brianna and at a younger memory. A younger time. Chris grumbles. "And you both took careers with Pokemon. Figures."

"Where is she?" Brianna asks. She allows herself to clear her plate. It's all in self-control, she knows by now. "Is she busy working..?"

"Hell if we know!" Chris pours himself another glass. "Nathan doesn't hear from her. Neither do we."

Cindy picks up the story. "She wanted to be a Pokemon Breeder."

"Oh! That's awesome," Brianna says.

Cindy makes sure to avoid her husband's gaze. "Your uncle and I couldn't afford to send her to a formal school for breeding..."

"Olivine State! _Ha!_"

They ignore Chris. "So we told her. 'Sophia, we're fine if this is what you want to do. But you'll have to do it on your own.' She went online and found an internship for some ranch somewhere…Sevii Islands, right?" She turns to Chris. "Two Island, I think."

"Two Island Ranch," Chris groans. "In some podunk hick town." He gets up for more food. The waiters ignore his stumble.

"The Sevii Islands?" Brianna asks, and again, we should be thankful she's oblivious to her own charms. The kind of girl that puts fingertips to her lip when asking a question has caused countless wars. "I've never heard of them."

"They've only just been inducted into the UN," Cindy explains. "They don't have gyms or anything yet, and their economy is smaller than any two cities on the mainland. But they specialize in breeding; a lot of Johto and Hoenn Pokemon can be found in the wild, as a matter of fact."

"Wow. How did you know all that?"

"I just read the newspaper," Cindy says bashfully.

The rest of the evening goes much more smoothly. Chris returns with a loaded plate and more considerate sentiments. After all, how would he like it if he sent Nathan to his brother, and Nathan were given anything less than a warm welcome?

And lucky for both of them, Chris and Brianna have a common sentiment. Chris starts. "So…How has it been, being away from your dad for a while? Old man grumpus?"

…This is another family story. Chris didn't want Brianna's father to leave home. Chris still had the fist-induced scar on his chin. That scar, more than his brother's pleading or their mother's words, finally convinced him let his little brother go.

A bashful grin spreads across Brianna's face. Their dad could be quite…stubborn, is one word. Controlling was another. She used to write them down.

She's gotten used to defending family too, but not _from_ family.

This is okay, Brianna thinks.

What was life like, living away from home?

"I chased rainbows," she says. "As far as I could go."

…

"Thanks for driving, sweetie," Cindy says. She closes the front door once a staggering, slobbering Chris is safely passed out on the couch. "I don't know why he drives that truck. It's a death trap."

Brianna found that out for herself, after accidentally gunning the ignition and almost ending her story in an unremarkable ditch.

"Think nothing of it," Brianna replies. "Honestly, thank you for having me."

The warmth from the alcohol spreads through Cindy's veins. She's unaware of the setting sun and the coastal breeze. Brianna shoves her hands in her pockets, straining her muscles against the wind.

"You should come by more often!" Cindy beams, and not quite without sincerity. "Chris won't show it, but he's always glad when family comes around. And I'm sure Nathan would love to see you, too."

"Definitely," Brianna says lamely.

They wait on the porch, locked in a stalemate.

"Are you staying the night?" Cindy offers first. "I suppose you can sleep in Sophia's room. Chris can't bring himself to go inside, but I make sure to change the bed sheets every now and then."

It's not a genuine offer. Brianna can tell from the way Cindy blinks rapidly, and how she keeps staring up and to the left. That's the part of the brain that tells lies, she remembers. Memory, for that matter, is stored in the right. Not that it mattered, but Brianna liked to be sure.

"That's generous of you, Aunt Cindy, really. But I need to be going."

"Oh?" Cindy's eyebrows jump up. "Are you staying with friends somewhere? Do you need a ride? If you need the truck…"

"The Vermillion Port closes in a few hours." Brianna's ironclad smile breaks at the edges. "I don't want to miss the last boat out."

"The last boat? I thought you didn't have any plans following your big win." She says it like a euphemism for a dirty word. Like she wants to say the real thing, but has learned better.

"I _don't _have any plans. Not really." Brianna crosses her legs. She's twelve and lying to her parents about signing up for a Pokedex, all over again. "It's more of an impulse." Then, the truth: "I've gotten good at acting on impulses."

"Oh," Cindy says. "I see." The contagious Brianna Grin has her in its snare. "Are you okay for money? You're eating okay?"

"I'm fine."

She doesn't mean to rid herself of these people as fast as she can, really. This is Brianna trying to catch a ship, not her trying to run from family members with whom she has nothing in common, never will have anything in common, and wouldn't want to know if she weren't obligated to by blood.

Cindy recognizes it. She's seen it before. She may be a small-town mom, but she's still a mom.

"Tell her I say 'hi', when you see Sophia?" Then, her voice catching: "Tell her to call home more. I miss her. Tell her, her mother misses her."

Brianna wants to ask what gave her intentions away, but then she remembers, mothers tend to know everything.

Cindy knows there's nothing left to be said. She doesn't go inside, and Brianna doesn't wait before pulling her Pokeball from her backpack. She's about to throw it into the sky when Cindy raises a hand.

She casts a glance toward the front room mirror. Then, once the coast is clear: "If you don't mind my asking…That's not Sawyer," she points to the ball. "That's not him, is it?"

"No, I'm sorry," she replies. "I didn't bring him. I thought he earned some down time for a while."

"That's a shame. I would have loved to meet him." The disappointment is more real than anything Chris has said all afternoon. "You know my husband. He's a little closed in the head, but…Well, I'm sure my son couldn't very well beat the champion of driving, but you beat the Pokemon League Champion, so there that is!"

Brianna giggles. She's sure she'll never get used to flattery, not even the deserved kind.

"I'll bring him around," she says. "It's a promise."

She throws the ball above her head. It breaks apart in a white burst, and the blur of feathers races above.

"This is Gabby," Brianna says.

Gabby glides to earth, well aware of Cindy and Brianna's eyes. Unlike her Trainer, Gabby is a sucker for attention.

"She's a Fearow." Brianna holds up a hand. "One of my best friends."

Then, an almost inaudible whisper: "Can you fly for me?"

She doesn't give any goodbyes. Brianna leaps onto Gabby's back and is off in the distance, tearing through clouds with her knees buckling and teeth chattering. It's only when she's in a cabin on the ferry, headed for Two Island Port, that Brianna relaxes.

She worried for a moment over whether or not the ferry company would accept her Universal Pass. They asked her one question. "Would you like the normal-size room, or Queen-sized?"

* * *

It feels great to be back! I'm excited for this one. Review if you like, and please stick around!


	2. Sophie

The Summer of Two Island

…

Chapter 2 – Sophie

Two Island, or rather Boon Island as it was sometimes known, earned a reputation for stellar weather and cheap tomatoes in the summer. Sophie discovered a third wonder of the island days after leaving Huntington, one which would be immeasurably helpful.

The islanders were the textbook definition of gullible. And for a farmhand who needs a little spare change on weekends, particularly a farmhand who knows a handful of fortune-telling tricks…

"I'm getting something. You have a powerful aura about you."

"That's so _true!_ I get that all the time! I've noticed it all my life, really."

Bam, Sophie thinks. That's ten bucks in a tip, right there.

She never intended to tell fortunes on Two Island. Hell, if she wants to be honest with herself, Sophie wanted to leave divination behind and focus solely on breeding. She packed her books away in Chris and Cindy's attic and hoped they had made their final peace with sunlight. All but one textbook—_The Art of Divination_, the first one she ever received—remained in storage.

Imagine her surprise when, no more than two months after moving out, the ranch is having trouble with funding. And if Owen couldn't even keep the ranch going, there was no way he could keep up housing an unnecessary intern. _That_, subsequently, meant she'd be sent back the way she came.

_The Art of Divination_, luckily for her, always had the answers. The book rested open in her lap, safely hidden under the table.

The woman seated across from Sophie is too old for this. Twenty-five years old and a Pallet Town native. She's on vacation in the hip new archipelago known as Sevii Islands. Her black hair shines because she uses a distressing amount of hair products and sleeps on her stomach every night.

Wonder, the small Chingling seated beside the tarot cards and pentagram, scrunches his fat lip. His small, beady black eyes dart to Sophie.

She nods. The shared vision dissipates. "I saw it too, pal," Sophie blurts out.

"Saw what?!" The woman is too happy to ask. "Am I going to be rich? Is my grandfather still alive? What? _What?_"

You won't meet an exotic boyfriend, and he won't let your ride on his vespa by day and then ride _him_ by night.

Sophie can't say that. Not if she wants to collect twenty dollars for the reading, plus that ten-dollar tip.

She takes a cue from her mother. She sugar-coats.

Sophie sits straight up, arches her back, throws her head this way and that, and starts flipping cards. It's just a set of playing cards—spades and clubs and whatnot—but those were the tools of the trade.

"Your desires are ill-placed," she starts. Carefully. "The agents of romance do not bloom in the summer."

"Oh…"

Save it, Sophie tells herself. Save it, quick! "However, I am seeing something…" It's not a total fib. "You will come across riches…Riches of an island of knots…And from them, the way home."

This jacks the woman's spirits back into high gear. "Knot Island! I was heading there before going home, but I didn't have enough money left for a return ticket!" She pumps a fist in the air, channeling the sorority girl she once was. "_Oh _yes!"

Wonder bobs back and forth, the bells at the end of his rainbow braids chiming gleefully.

"Thanks _so_ much! You have no idea, this changes everything." The woman stands and reaches into her purse. Just as planned: a wad of money flops into the table jar.

"Thank _you._ Have a good one," Sophie starts to say. The woman is already gone, and Sophie's words are lost over the roar of Two Island Market.

She initially laughed at the islanders' naming conventions. What would happen when there were too many people, too many stores to simply name something 'Two Island _'? All that kind of thinking did was paint Sophie as foreign to strangers. Prior to Pokemon Master Red visiting the Sevii Islands four years ago, Two Island had as little as nine people tending to the fields, shops, and makeshift Pokemon Center. Having the population grow to a little over two hundred people was the equivalent of a mass immigration.

The island found no shortage of land space, but only because the islanders had no wealthy aspirations. Legally, all businesses had to gather outside of the Two Island Port, which allowed for centralized tourism.

Two Island Port expanded to include ferries to Kanto and Johto, as well as between the several other islands. Fittingly, Two Island and its handful of markets expanded to become Two Island Market.

Sophie managed to set up shop on the same strip of unpaved dirt road as the Pokemon Center. It did wonders for her foot traffic. She got as much, if not more visitors here than she had working with her family and their friends back in Huntington.

It was an unfair comparison, and Sophie knew it. The jaded Vermillion City denizens scoffed at the idea of fortune telling, but the rare customer dropped a few hundred dollars. The average Two Island folk didn't have that much in his life savings' account. An unfortunate side-effect of delayed globalization.

Sophie shakes the jar, watching the bills waft to the bottom. That woman had been her third customer of the day. A little over a hundred dollars wasn't a bad haul. When it was just her and her lousy solo skills, Sophie was lucky to get _one_ customer, let alone manage a reading without screwing up.

Wonder stands on his nubby feet and pokes the jar.

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get your share," Sophie groans. It's not fair. All he has to do is sit there, look pretty, and steer her readings in the right direction once in a while. "I'm doing all the hard work, here."

"Hard work? Is that what they call sitting in the shade for six hours at a time?"

The first time Owen Shepard caught his intern moonlighting as a fortune teller, he worried if she'd have to be let go. Not because he wanted to. Owen was just a stickler for rules. One look at his perfect bowl cut, tucked-in shirt and pleated pants told you that.

The stubble at his jawline and dirt on his nose offered a different story. Rules were rules, but rules didn't run the ranch. He did.

I rather liked Owen Shepard.

Sophie waits for him to wander out of the marketplace traffic stream before talking. He sets his several plastic bags down beside the table, rubs his red hands together, and pats Wonder on his plush head.

"No touching the star," Sophie says grudgingly. "If you damage him, I'll need to find another mascot."

"Why? You're pretty enough to get customers, Sophie. Your scowl attracts ghouls from far and wide."

"True. Though I'd need to get my fangs sharpened, and that would require dental insurance."

"Right, that thing I don't offer interns." Owen laughs. "What's the haul look like?"

"See for yourself," Sophie says. She tilts the jar his way. The bills and loose change jingle.

Owen smiles. "Praise Arceus. It looks like we're eating tonight!"

I personally wouldn't praise Arceus. He's lazy.

And Owen wasn't making fun of the girl, honest.

I find people exist along a spectrum of kindness. On the far corner are people like Sophie's father and Brianna's uncle, whose gut reactions is cruelty until further notice. Then, all the way to the other side, are people who can manage sunshine in the pouring rain.

Working on Two Island Ranch sucked. If not for Owen's good-natured cheer, he would have been out of an intern. He knew it, and Sophie knew it. The best relationships are a two-way street, as they say.

"We'd better be eating tonight. I'm starving." Sophie checks her phone. "And…looks like that was my last fortune for the day."

"It's three-thirty."

Sophie rolls her eyes. "_Yeah_, but I have a system worked out. It takes an hour for someone to come by. Then, it's half an hour for a reading, and fifteen minutes of padding to make everything feel all mystical and important. I'd be working overtime sitting here waiting for someone. I'd rather cut my losses, wouldn't you?"

"No," Owen says lamely. Then, at his intern's reaction: "Sophie uses Glare! It's not very effective."

"Har, har. Get over here, boss. Help me pack up."

"No can do." Owen throws up a castigating finger. "As your boss, I am unable to assist you in tasks not pertaining to official Ranch work. Doing so would mean I acknowledge you doing so, and seeing as how this little operation is _monetized_…"

"I get it, I get it." Sophie pulls her rolling suitcase from under the table. "Get off, you," she grumbles and prods Wonder. Once he was down, she set to work stowing away the requisite purple tablecloth, cards, hanging ornaments, miscellaneous figurines, and finally the umbrella protecting her from heat stroke. Not that there had been a single reported case of heat stroke anywhere in Sevii Islands. She just liked to be careful.

"Speaking of hauls," Sophie continues. "What did you get? Tell me that's chow for the tykes."

"It is," Owen says reassuringly. "At the rate they're hatching, we should be good on food for a week."

Key phrase being 'should-be'. The last time Sophie heard that, they ran out of meals and the baby Rattata were chewing at her shoes.

"Good to know." Sophie hauls the folded umbrella over her right shoulder. Wonder bounces onto the rolling suitcase, and she took the handle with her other hand. "Honestly, do you have any idea what it's like eating when you've got the tykes staring at you?"

Then: "Wait, of course you do. It's your ranch."

"I love it when you answer your own questions. It makes me feel like you're learning."

Owen weathers another Sophie glare, and the two set off for the marketplace exit. Two Island Port and Two Island Market were intentionally close together.

Two Island Ranch was unintentionally out in the boonies.

…

"You think I'd get used to it," Sophie remarks of the dirt road, tall grass to both sides, oppressive heat and complete lack of accomplishment. "Day one, you're all like, 'Things will get better, intern!'" Sophie shoots Owen a glare. "So tell me…when does it get better?"

Owen shrugs his wide shoulders. "I figure it's a philosophic thing. You'll get used to this place when you're ready to leave."

"In other words, you have no idea."

"In other words, I think you're not enjoying your here and now." He extends a finger and rakes it along the grass fields. "They say humans are the only creature on this planet to live in the future and the past, and totally forget the present. Don't be that stereotype, Sophie. We don't want the tykes to grow up thinking the stereotypes are true."

"Right. We don't want little Poke-racists."

"That's not what I said." Then: "And yet, entirely accurate. I'm guessing you're in a funk."

Sophie purses her lips. "Am not."

"Are too. You only get funny when you're grouchy."

Humor as a defense mechanism. It was Sophie's first rule of thumb: when you're in a situation that you can't get out of, laugh at it. Her mother used it to survive living with a fortune-telling buffoon of a husband, and passed the family secret onto her daughter for good luck.

Sophie proceeded to laugh at both parents.

She laughed herself clear across the sea.

She had laughed so hard, she sometimes forgot what she was laughing at.

But the second she stopped, she always remembered.

"I'll take a wild stab," Owen sings. "You're homesick."

"You know, boss, you should get that tumor in your brain checked out."

He flinches. Owen's big hands cover his face. "Don't kill the messenger. Just saying, you could probably do for a call home. The last intern I had didn't last two days here without calling."

"You say that like you've had an intern before."

"Yeah, well. He called home and they persuaded him to quit. These things happen."

Sophie's shoulder starts to give out. She extends the umbrella up on her palm and balances it. She wonders why she's not dropping it, then finds Wonder concentrating on it just as hard. "Boss, are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Never. Without you, how would I scare away the locals?"

Sophie wants to hate Owen.

Really, honest to God, she wants to hate him with a passion. Wants to wring his neck by his abrasive sense of humor. But for the life of her, Sophie can't bring herself to dislike him, even a little bit.

I've seen a lot of humans, so naturally, I imagined there was a cookie-cutter psychological reason for her Owen affections. I even made a list.

One, Owen recently turned twenty-three. That made him five years older than Sophie, and put him at exactly the same age as her brother. The one she missed, even when she didn't, because you don't abandon a sibling and pretend you haven't just amputated a limb.

Two. I only watched Sophie for a year or so before these events—only a fraction of the time I spent around Brianna—but you didn't need to be a Legendary to recognize an antisocial introvert. Those are not the same thing, contrary to popular belief. Sophie hated interacting with people. She also loved to be alone. This did not have to mean a sentence into solitude, and yet that's what ensued.

Three, and most paradoxically considering the above statements, Sophie wanted to be acknowledged. She craved acknowledgement. Being acknowledged is different from being loved, which begs a certain relationship from another individual. Sophie did not want to be held. She did not want to be cuddled, kissed, caressed or taken care of. She simply wanted someone else to know she existed.

Sophie the Fortune Teller had seen the future more than once. It was hazy and gave her headaches that could kill a man, but she had.

Sophie the Breeder had helped no less than thirty-two Pokemon hatch from their eggs and find a home on the Ranch.

Sophie the Eighteen-Year-Old Girl wanted to know that, were she to die tomorrow, someone would know that she had once existed in someone's future, where she helped Pokemon meet the world.

Owen may not have been the only person on Two Island capable of meeting all three requirements. He was taller than Nathan, Sophie's idiot brother, by a mile. He made her clean up after the tykes, then charged her to use the washing machine. And his 'continental breakfast' of ramen noodles was anything but continental.

But Owen made her feel acknowledged.

He made her laugh. And gentlemen, take it from me. The way to a girl's heart is through her sense of humor. When he gives Wonder just the slightest nudge and the umbrella comes crashing down—and open—on Sophie's head, she's too busy laughing to start maiming.

She folds the umbrella back up. Finally, after a walk that somehow feels longer every time and not long enough, she saw Two Island Ranch up the hill.

It was nothing fancy: Owen's family home and the surrounding area, garage included. Owen and the landlord, the oft-seen and less-oft-spoken-of Randall Blevins, "converted" the one-story craftsman home into a ranch by moving logs around to block out the property. The tykes knew never to cross over the logs outside the garage, and they knew never to come inside the house. The system worked.

She notices then: Owen isn't beside her. The bag of food is at her side, rather than in his grip.

"Owen?"

"I'm going to wait here for a moment," he calls. Sophie faces back down the way they had come. Owen has his hand up and blocking the sun from his eyes, staring down the dirt path.

"You see it too, right?"

They both see it. The white hat and brown curls are hard to miss in the empty island expanse.

"She's like a lost valley girl," Sophie says. "How'd she get all the way out here? She hurt or something?"

"Hardly. She's been following us." He pauses. He weighs whether or not to bring his intern into it, both for legal reasons and because Sophie tended to err on the clumsy side. Case in point: the umbrella that had strands of her hair stuck in the rings, and not for the first time.

Better safe than sorry, he decides. "Actually, she started following us before we left the marketplace. And if you want to be really creepy about it, I caught her watching your sad operation."

Sophie tilts her head. "I've got me a stalker."

"You've got yourself a stalker," Owen agrees. "Head inside and feed the tykes, will you?" He stretches his arms wide. "This won't take long."

"What are you going to do?" She asks dubiously. Somehow, the image of Owen with a shotgun sending the valley girl 'back the way she came' didn't ring true.

"Help her on her way," Owen says. When that's _all_ he says, Sophie takes that as her cue. She heaves the Pokemon food over the suitcase and drags them by the same handle.

She contemplates stepping over the one-log fence and dropping the tykes' food off first, but rule one of the ranch was to respect the fence. Rule two was 'fight like hell in the event of a pirate uprising' and was likely the product of drunken rule-writing, but rule one was to respect the fence. Sophie begrudgingly heaves the suitcase and umbrella up the front steps to the house.

She tries leaning the umbrella against the wall. It slides and nearly takes another clump of hairs from her head. Sophie holds the umbrella upright and fishes for the keys in her pocket.

"I don't suppose you'd like to help," she tells Wonder, who bobs back and forth on his chubby legs. "Nah, I didn't think so."

The door opens. The familiar smell of cheap air freshener and unwashed human climbs up her nostrils.

The house reminds her of her own home, back when she considered Huntington her home. Three bedrooms, with one of them converted into an office. Dining room, living room and kitchen all connected and making up the front half of the house. Bookshelves lining the walls. TV, computer, and phone all hopelessly outdated. Legal paperwork everywhere.

Sophie had figured out how to maneuver. She goes straight for the hallway, past the common living areas, and sets the suitcase just inside her bedroom door. She throws the umbrella like a javelin onto her bed, with only an ounce of her total animosity.

Wonder tries jumping inside and running for her mattress. Sophie is too fast for the small fellow; she grips his braids and leaves him flailing in the air.

"Not yet, Wonder-bar," she sighs. "If I don't feed the tykes, they'll probably put us on the menu."

Wonder doesn't agree. He keeps flailing, straining with his nubby yellow arms to reach and claw at Sophie's grip. It'd be cute, if it weren't pathetic. She holds him over her shoulder, his body still dangling by his peppermint braids, and marches outside. The bag of Pokemon food eats at her fingers. Owen lifted things like this all the time. No wonder he had enough muscle to snap Sophie in two.

She pushes the screen back door open and goes to the garage, her long legs closing the distance handily.

She hears the clawing at the door and stumbling of newborn legs almost immediately. It only grows louder as she nears the garage, and when she pulls the door open to enter the makeshift nursery, she's instantly up to her knees in tykes.

"Hold on, guys!" She smiles. "There's enough for everyone! If you don't eat me, that is."

The nursery-in-garage is set into three distinct areas: the playpen, the hatchery, and the nap room. It surprised Sophie at first to learn that the ranch had _zero_ consistency on what kind of Pokemon came through. The reason why they were currently looking after a flock of Mareep, a pair of Oddish and Jynx triplets was even more strange.

"You've heard of Wonder Trade, right?" Owen had asked.

Sophie had done her research: Kalos implemented a way of trading Pokemon across the country in essentially blind-box format. Most often, people just used it to trade away their Pokemon with sub-par IV's, whatever those were.

"Well, Sevii Island only just connected itself. The government higher-ups don't want to start trading until they know the ins-and-outs, and they figure it'd be more ethical to breed Pokemon and send them to day-care centers than just blindly trade them around.

"That's how you end up with free-loaders," Owen said happily, tickling Wonder in his pudgy gut.

In other words, Sophie picked perhaps the only ranch in Kanto to not breed Pokemon for combat. Sophie didn't know what kind of breeder she wanted to be, but she already knew breeding for combat was _not_ for her. As she walked over the fuzzball Mareep and held the bag of food high over her head as she made for the refridgerator, she wondered: how could someone raise a Pokemon with any kind of care, and then send them out to get beaten up?

Not that she had any issues with Trainers. To each her own, Sophie would say. She didn't care much for raising critters to fight, but if others have the stomach for it, then by all means.

Sophie knows from experience that if she starts feeding the tykes first, the entire bag will basically go up in flames.

She pours most of it into the bin by the door, up high on a shelf where the tykes know not to reach. Then she sets about pouring the rest of the food into dinner bowls, and the tykes are ready. Sophie laughs every time: a salivating Jynx is surreal.

"Can you guys promise not to bite my hands off?" Sophie holds the three bowls in her hands. The Mareep clan knows to back off and not shock the living daylights out of the farmhands. The Oddish gang once tried to vine-whip food out of Owen's grip, which didn't end well. And finally, a newborn Jynx kissed Sophie's hand on day one, crippling her usage of it for a week.

She makes eye contact with each of the tykes. They know: don't bite the hand that feeds.

She sets the food down in the playpen, one bowl at a time. The tykes make sure to hold off until she backs one, two, three steps toward the door. Then, when she nods, it's a feast.

"Sheesh, guys," she laughs on the way out. "Would it hurt you to try and savor it?"

"That's what I ask your boss, actually."

Standing in the middle of the lawn: John Adelson of the Adelson brothers. Aged late-twenty-something with a gut, some hairline issues, boots and a certain reluctance against shirts that cover the aforementioned gut. Sophie remembers kids like him from middle school. The type that read Archie comics by themselves, hating everyone from the sidelines until they got big enough to actively hate people.

Sophie wrings her hands out. They still hurt from holding the plastic bags. "Hey, Adelson Number One. Didn't hear you knock."

Adelson's lip cringes. He hates using dramatic lines and having them ignored. Which, in the paradoxical Sophie fashion, is the only thing she likes about the Adelsons. What else wasn't there to love about debt collectors?

If Sophie doesn't ask the follow-up, Adelson might go ballistic. She'd enjoy it, but Owen's funds certainly wouldn't. "What are you asking my boss, Adelson?" She drones.

"When I'm giving him his loans, why doesn't he savor them? Savor the brief respite from poverty?"

Savor it, Sophie thinks, like Adelson was savoring this moment? Hamming it up to the maximum ham potential?

She parrots him. "Why doesn't he savor it, Adelson?"

"Because he's mindless. And mindless buffoons spend money like they breathe oxygen. That's my guess," Adelson spits.

Sophie isn't dumb.

She sees the two larger men behind Adelson, both confusingly clad in those biker vests that don't do much except make your back sweaty, and both without a single hair on their shiny heads. Cue Balls, they called themselves. The local biker gang. Sophie wants to ask who chose that name, but ignores them.

She assesses the situation. She thinks: don't escalate.

If anything, stall until Owen shows up. This is his problem. Though if Cue Ball One and Two get rowdy, it could very quickly become the tykes' problem. Which was not an option.

Sophie grins. "Just so you know, we just spent the last couple cents from your loan on food for the tykes. If you fellows are hungry, you can probably help yourself to some Pokechow." She squints, just slightly. "Maybe I can interest you friends in some head wax?"

Cue Ball One and Two clench their fists.

"By the way? I'm just wondering." Sophie waves a hand nonchalantly. "I didn't hear you guys knock or anything. Tell me you didn't just step over the fence."

When the Cue Balls look toward the log, she continues. "Owen says it's a symbolic fence. It gives the air of authority, but if nobody respects it, then what's the point?"

"Well, Intern Girl, you'll forgive me for not respecting his authority," Adelson retorted. Faster than she expected, too. She doesn't have a comeback ready. Adelson is snappier than his paunch suggests. "You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"

And here we go, she thinks. "Kind of. He's a bit down the road." She points. "Just on the other side of the fence. You'll have to go through the house."

The Cue Balls actually start for the back porch. It takes Adelson remaining glued in place for the two to recognize sarcasm.

"I'll ask you again. Don't make me ask a third time, Intern Girl. At the third time, I get to be rough."

Sophie folds her arms. "Rough? What, are you gonna give me a rub burn?"

"Not you. Though I imagine the newborns in the garage wouldn't like being tossed around." Then, in a sickening matter-of-fact way: "The Cue Balls used to be a team of football players. Does your boss know that?"

Well, Sophie thinks. That kind of changes things.

Thanks to living with an abrasive father and passive-aggressive mother, not to mention an older brother who loved the sound of his baby sister crying post-insult, Sophie could banter with the best of them. Personally, I wondered why her mouth hadn't gotten her sent back to Huntington.

A smart mouth could only go so far. Watching the muscles on Adelson's hired goon squad, Sophie knows it.

She has one shot. She can run to the garage and lock it, so the tykes are safe. After that, it's up to Owen.

Subconsciously, Sophie stares up and to the left. Coming up with a lie—a way to stall.

Adelson can't have that. He snaps his fingers.

Cue Ball One is on her in a flash, closing the distance between Adelson and Sophie in the time it takes to blink. One beefy hand grips her throat and applies pressure. The other snaps Sophie's hand back when it tries to claw at his face. She's pinned against the garage wall, still thinking fast, but never fast enough. Wonder is kicked to the side and nursing a black boot-sized bruise before she can hope to ask an attack from him.

Fortunately for Sophie's windpipe, her boss shows up on the back porch.

Sophie doesn't recognize the girl with the white cap, but she doesn't care, either.

"Jonh Adelson? Thing One of Two?" Owen scratches the back of his bushy head of hair. "Could you call off your hit squad? That's a good intern. They're surprisingly hard to find."

Adelson turns around to face Owen. With his distressing heft, it takes a few seconds. Long enough for Cue Ball One to release Sophie's throat, caress it, _wink_ at her, and then finally let her hand come loose. It takes everything in Sophie not to smack his brain out through his ears. Her mama taught her better, lucky for him.

Owen descends the creaking backdoor stairs. The valley girl is hesitant, but when Owen pauses, she hurries to follow him.

"What is that supposed to be?" Adelson points. "You can't have hired more help. What are you paying this one in, fresh air?"

"She's my backup," Owen explains. "We have a very temporary arrangement." The corner of Sophie's mouth perks into a grin. Leave it to Owen to come up with a plan. He adds: "It's none of your business, though. I believe you're here to talk money."

"I am." Adelson hooks his thumbs in his pockets. His bosom grows a full cup size.

As I told you before, I liked Owen. He has a cool head, and you'd be surprised how useful those can be. Take this very situation for an example.

Sophie knows the terms of Owen's loan. I'll spare you some bureaucracy and say that he had until the end of summer—September 1st—to pay off what he owed. August had only just begun. The Adelson Brothers, particularly the more dim-witted John Adelson, had no reason to antagonize anybody, for anything. Though when Adelson and his muscle roll through and start strangling locals, Sophie is too panicked to consider reason. It would take more than threats to pressure Owen.

He cuts to the chase. "If you're here to collect interest before the loan comes due, you wasted your time. Our terms don't stipulate anything of the sort."

"Funny. You might want to check them again, pal—"

"I'm not your pal, Adelson, I'm your client."

The valley girl crosses her legs and balances on her heels.

"Another thing. I read the news." He pauses. "Reading. It's a thing. There are strange symbols on a page, and they become words in your head…? Anyway. It says Adelson Banking is in danger of going bankrupt. Something about Saffron Mutual refusing to work with, quote, 'small-time island mafiosos'."

Adelson starts to get the picture. He doesn't like being made a fool of. He especially doesn't like when his men start smirkingbehind his back. If he doesn't take the reins back, this conversation can steer downhill very easily.

"Owen! I'm hurt. Did you think I came here to bully you into paying your interest early?"

"Yeah, I did. You _did_ attack my intern, which counts as assault and could void your repayment terms entirely." Owen yawns. He takes care to cover his mouth with a lax hand.

_That_'s when Adelson remembers why he decided to come out all this way, to the middle of Two Island, in a busted-up car with two muscleheads. It wasn't specifically because of Two Island Ranch. He had a pick of clients to intimidate across the island. He remembers: none of them would dare talk back. None of them would _yawn_ at John Adelson in the middle of his intimidation display. And if they were ever to be taken seriously by the larger banks, they needed to first make themselves serious to island scum like Owen Shepard.

He snaps his fingers again. Cue Ball Two starts for Owen, who credit his bravado, closed his eyes while yawning and barely opened one at the finger snap.

The hulking fist never collides.

Sophie is quick to blame the overbearing sun. It was a mirage. An illusion, a trick of the eye. People didn't whip their hands around and catch moving fists in their palms. Maybe in bad action flicks, but not in real life.

Yet here stood the valley girl in her white cap, her brunette hair swinging into thick curls at the tips, a backpack slung over both shoulders, with a grown-man's bodybuilding fist caught in her palm.

Adelson is curious. She looks like she wouldn't have the wherewithal to give a speech to her classmates. What would the dainty sunflower have to say to his hired man?

"You don't want to do that," Brianna says casually.

It takes all of Cue Ball Two's strength to pull his fist free, and then he's looking to Adelson for direction. A grown man reduced to an aimless child.

Now, a wise man would realize that escalation never leads to a satisfactory ending. People end up hurt. Investments are depreciated. It's how regrets begin.

Adelson, as I hope you've realized, is not a wise man.

He cranes his head back to Cue Ball One, and like clockwork, the bodybuilder joins his mirror-image to stare down the girl with the cap.

"Bad mistake, Shepard," Adelson sighs.

The Cue Balls have Pokeballs in their hands now, flipping them up and down and antsy for a cheap victory.

Brianna isn't one to stir the pot. She waits for Owen's nod and grin before reaching into her bag and pulling a Pokeball of her own.

Adelson laughs when she adopts a Trainer's stance, knees bent and Pokeball-throwing arm extended to the side. The Cue Balls miss the joke.

"I suppose sending a little girl to take your licks isn't above you." Adelson spits. It goes past the log fence. "Teaching you some respect for your loan officers won't be a challenge."

The Cue Balls recognize their boss's flair for the dramatic. Their Pokeballs explode in the air.

Unfortunately for them, they missed a key part of Brianna's character. Something Owen saw in her the moment she stopped and laid her hazel eyes on him in the field, and something Sophie saw in her stiff upper lip.

If nothing else, Brianna was all about challenge.

But that part comes later.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you like what you read, let me know in a review!


	3. Casey

The Summer of Two Island

…

Chapter 3 – Casey

I regret to inform you: as interesting as what Brianna does next is, something else was happening on Two Island that requires my—thereby our—attention.

We turn back to Two Island Market. Between the Port and the Market, the first signs of a more unified presence began to take shape. Specifically, entrepreneurs had begun construction on housing. Typical Two Island housing was reminiscent of the Shepard home. Out of the way, reserved in décor, cheap to build and simple to maintain. The lumbering skyscraper apartment buildings were neither cheap nor simple, but were capable of charging offensive rates.

Never in Casey's life could he afford to live in such style. I pitied the boy. Brianna and Sophie, two girls who had defied the beaten path and become intertwined with Pokemon, knew no limits. Casey, younger than both of them at age sixteen, already knew the boundaries of his life story. Being an orphan will give you that clarity.

When we come to him, it is just past five in the afternoon and he has been in the fifth floor lounge for hours. Cable television has no appeal, the mainland tabloids scattered about remind him how _dumb_ other people could be, and the open bar doesn't serve minors. The 'minor' concept didn't exist until the whole unification kick, mind you.

Casey leans back in his leather chair and watches the waves from the panoramic window. And he wonders: was there any way out of this?

That morning, Randall Blevins banged on the ranch front door.

"I've got some business to take care of," he grunted. Taking over his parents' Pokemon Trade business and becoming partners with Owen Shepard had aged him. The lines on his twenty-four-year-old face weren't supposed to come for another ten years. "Where's Shepard?"

Casey shifted his balance. He told Randall the truth, that Sophie and Owen went into town for the day. He regrets his honesty now. Hell, forget lying. He should have not opened the door.

Hindsight is 20/20, and Randall is a problem-solver at heart. "You'll have to do, freeloader. Get some shoes on." When Casey asked where they were going, Randall lit a cigarette and took a long drag. He held it between his middle and ring fingers, like some kind of big-shot. "We're seeing someone about contract work. You're the legal witness."

Casey's a smart boy, as far as teenage boys go. Randall's suave belonged in Westerns. It would have taken a genius to see through his façade. To his credit, Casey took one look at the glistening apartment complex and knew the truth. "I didn't know your girlfriend was a contract worker."

"Neither does she. And if you keep your trap shut, it won't be that big of a deal."

They rode up the elevator silently. Casey held his breath to avoid choking on Randall's smoke.

Casey's worn sneakers had never walked across such expensive carpeting before now, but Randall seemingly knew the way. He navigated the various twists and turns of the apartment complex with ease. They stopped in front of, in Casey's view, what could have been any door.

Randall reached into his jeans pocket and pressed a few buttons on the beaten cell phone. An uppity pop-song from the eighties blared on the other side of the door. When it opened, the blond-haired, blue-eyed, red-lipped and pigtailed beauty wore an ugly frown.

"What, you don't know how to ring a bell?"

"Too much work." Randall mimicked pressing a button. "They say it's bad for the tendons. Didn't you know?"

There were many things twenty-year-old Kimmie Gracie Cole didn't know. She didn't know that Randall considered her a girlfriend, for one. She also didn't know better than to answer the door in a pink bathrobe. Casey darted his eyes to his feet.

"Come on inside, then. You're letting the cool air out." Kimmie stood to the side. Casey knew better than to accept the invitation blindly. He had lived with the Blevins family for as long as his memories could recall. He _never_ accepted invitations blindly.

Randall shot him a knowing wink. "Wait in the lounge."

Like I said, that was five hours ago.

Casey doesn't mind the passing time. Not really. The droning of waves and air conditioning drown out the other sounds that plagued him. We'll get to those.

"Case-face, wake up," Randall drones. He shakes Casey's chair from behind and runs a coarse hand through Casey's stringy brown hair. "Mission accomplished. We're going home."

Casey stands, fixing his hair and catching a final glimpse of the view. When he moves to follow Randall, he finds Kimmie swinging a set of keys around a nail-polished finger. The red ribbons dangle around her eyes, which are blacked out around the edges. It fits with her black leather skirt, combat boots and tight black shirt. Casey thinks it makes her look like a Zigzagoon.

At least she's dressed, he thinks. "What's she doing here?"

"I'm driving, short-stop. And unless you want to _walk_ home, show some gratitude." Unlike anyone else on Earth, twin-tailed Kimmie delivers the line with a smile. It brings out her rosy cheeks. She makes sure to apply extra blush before leaving home.

Some girls try too hard. Though we won't find Randall Blevins complaining. He raises a hand and calls shotgun.

Five minutes and an awkward elevator ride later, Casey finds himself in the back of a pink bug, clutching to the seat cushion for dear life. Kimmie swerves around the only three intersections on Two Island. Her brakes squeal. It's not loud enough to drown out the eighties synth keyboards blaring from her sound system. Casey stares out the window and watches the town buildings change into tall grass, and the lonely skyscrapers be replaced by polar white clouds.

He dares to turn attention back to the car interior. It's right in time to catch Randall staring at Kimmie Gracie Cole's…well, not at her eyes.

At least there's air conditioning.

…

The sun has set when Kimmie pulls up to the ranch. Against the violet backdrop of island twilight, the ranch is an olive-green lighthouse basking the plains in a dull yellow glow. Kimmie is out of the car first. We'll pretend Randall didn't do any ogling on her way out of the seat.

Casey hesitates. He hasn't seen a car in weeks. The veritable parking lot outside the ranch home is startling. Trucks, tractors, SUVs, and Casey even spies a short-range go-kart. When he opens the door, he hears the pumping bass from inside.

Randall reaches into his jeans pocket. He pulls another cigarette and lights it. He swears in confusion. "What is this, the Fourth of bleedin' July?" He lets the car door swing shut. The instant it does, Kimmie locks the car and bolts up the front steps. Randall casts an aside glance, but Casey is ambivalent.

"Don't look at me." He chuckles. "That's your woman."

"I'm working on that part," Randall admits. "Just…stay out of the way, okay?" Casey's not sure if he's talking about whatever's happening inside, or with Kimmie. He takes either suggestion and hangs behind while Randall goes inside.

Casey takes his time on the steps. Even though this was technically his home, he still savored the creaking of the wood steps and the feel of the chipped handrail on his fleshy hand. It was a ritual.

When he gets to the open front door, a grown woman—perhaps as old as any two of the ranch employees—slams into him. The red cup in her hand spills. "Sorry about that, Casey!" She drawls. "Get yourself something to drink."

"The boy can't drink, Lou!" Another voice bellows. Casey thinks it's from the kitchen, but there are too many bodies to guess. "Give him a coke!"

"That's what I meant!" She hollers back. Casey nods and flashes a curt smile, then ducks out of the way.

The heinous music assaults his ears with an incessant _unce-unce-unce_ rhythm. He didn't need to look to their stereo to find Sophie's hot-pink music player hooked up. He picks up his feet as he walks, clearing fallen plates and red cups. Casey takes a cursory glance down the hallway: his bedroom door is still closed. His number-one fear is quelled.

He doubted that anyone here would breach his personal space. Casey knows these people. Lou works at Two Island Liquors, and she lets him leave with a free candy bar when running errands. Owen is seated on the couch and sandwiched between the interested and available Collins twins, both twenty-three and in matching checkered dresses. Kimmie throws herself into the main room's atmosphere and it's suddenly a dance floor, founded upon her swaying hips and flying ribbons. The kitchen crowd breaks up to join the show, leaving Randall searching pizza boxes and enjoying from afar. He passes a girl Casey doesn't recognize. She's got a white cap and hair that twisted and bounced at the tips. When she turns and nearly catches Casey's gaze, his eyes are at his sneakers.

Another party at the Shepard house, going exactly as scheduled.

Casey's hands fly to his pockets. He tilts his head slightly. You'd think the kid was trying to hide behind his bangs.

A tap on his shoulder and Casey is jumping out of his skin. When it's only Sophie, palpable relief colors his sigh. "This is some kind of party," he offers.

"It's the best I could do on short notice. You missed a show, Casey. Though do yourself a favor, don't stop by Adelson Bank for the next decade." Sophie breaks into uncontrollable laughter. She staggers and falls into Casey, and when he catches her, her head sags onto his collarbone. Her ponytail is sloppy, and the hairs in front dangle separately. She's basically glowing. Obviously drunk.

Sophie pushes off with surprising strength. "I'll tell you in the morning! Right now, could you—hic—could you do me a favor?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Check on the tykes for me? I fed them a while ago, but…" She proceeded to slur the entire English language into something vaguely resembling speech.

"I'm on it." Casey nods. It satisfies Sophie, who bounces toward the dance floor. She screeches Kimmie's name, calls her one of the more vile words in the language, and then they're dancing together.

Casey controls each step. He has to make a calm escape. The people here that matter—Randall, Owen, and Sophie—all know he's party-avoidant. Casey was still loathe to make that knowledge public. His goal list did not include embarrassing the only people who cared if he ate in the morning.

Casey pushes past the screen door and closes it gently. He's about to hop the steps and make for the garage when he sees the damage.

When he left, the backyard lawn was exactly that. On the return visit, the lawn was some avant-garde interpretation of what a lawn was supposed to be.

Entire plots of grass and dirt had seemingly exploded from the ground. In several areas the grass had ripped up, as though someone had dragged something heavy across the surface, and at a high speed. The famous log fence took the worst damage of all. The wood splintered right down the middle. Woodchips lay scattered.

Casey clicks his tongue.

His first thought: whatever Sophie and Wonder did, Owen will be livid. Where was Wonder, anyway?

The second thought: Owen is inside, equally inebriated with Sophie and flirting with the Collins twins. 'Livid' was not in the man's vocabulary. This level of calm implied compliance with a Sophie Scheme. Which, in itself, was concerning.

Casey crosses the blasted no man's land. The garage door swung open easily and inside. He refrains from turning on the light. He knew before going inside that the tykes had all fallen asleep, following the first real dinner in a few days and some crazy events outside. He could ask them for the details tomorrow, after breakfast.

We won't get into _how_ he would ask them. Not yet.

He reaches into the playpen to run a hand along one of the Mareep's wool coats. The gentle static shock flies through his fingertips. He feels a smile form on his chapped lips. The electricity means a Mareep is dreaming.

Casey closes the garage door behind him. He steels himself for more party awkwardness. If he lucks out, he might get into the kitchen to grab a plate of food without anyone looking. Then it would be a high-speed race to his room. But what happened if he needed to come out and use the restroom later?

Casey shook his head. Life was never dull at Two Island Ranch.

Another figure spots him exiting the garage. Footsteps skid to an abrupt, surprised halt. She stumbles, her foot nearly catching in one of the craters.

"The tykes are out for the night," Casey explains, unfazed. He lets a hand dangle on the garage doorknob. "So…Do you mind explaining why a bomb went off outside the garage?"

Sophie is quiet.

Casey takes a breath. He needs to check his attitude. As if he _ever_ has a right to complain. "When you said Adelson Bank inside…what, did they play Extreme Rugby on the lawn?" He gives an empty laugh.

The voice of Very Definitely Not Sophie answers meekly. "It was kind of messy. I'm sorry for the damage." She adds quickly: "But your boss said it was okay!"

Casey sees it then: the white cap, hiding in the girl's hand rather than resting on her head. The party lights cast her in a golden hue. Her subtly swirling locks, her holey jeans and her crossed legs all turned to a dark silhouette.

Everything was fine.

All until this one moment, when the girl pushed a lock out of her face, the world was calm.

The other story within this weaved narrative, the one that concerns myself and my opposite remained between us. Try though we might to sway humanity to accomplish our gains, we Pokemon remained one world away from man. As it should have been.

…In this moment, our arms' race of the last seventeen years ends. The true chess match between myself and my negative, between existence and extermination, begins.

To put it simply?

Casey stares into the infinite, marvelous hazel abyss that is Brianna.

He catches himself staring a moment too long. Hand fly back into their safe pockets. Then, realizing he's being rude, Casey steps forward and extends a hand. It's clammy. He hopes she won't notice.

"I'm Casey," he says.

Brianna raises her eyebrows. She shakes his hand, and it's firm. Casey is used to those limp handshakes girls usually give. Aren't we all? "Brianna." Then: "Me, I mean. My name. It's Brianna."

She blinks so fast, it's like she's racing somebody. Her hand is even clammier than Casey's. He asks, "Is something the matter?"

"No! Not at all! Sorry! It's just…I haven't introduced myself to anyone in a long time." Then: "Not that Sophie and Owen are rude! They just…well…"

"They're not the handshake type," Casey suggests.

"Exactly." Brianna nods.

…At which point, both parties realize they're still shaking hands. I defy you to suggest which one broke away first!

Watching them together reminds me of watching our solar system. Casey stands stoic, unmoving and uncertain. Circling him back and forth in an unconscious rhythm is Brianna, crushing her white hat in a vice grip.

Casey knows: he's the host. He should speak first. Though when he opens his mouth, Brianna is one step ahead.

"You don't like parties, I guess." Her smile shines through the dark.

"This wasn't my idea. It wasn't Owen's either, probably. Sophie is the party guru."

"Sophie the Intern, right." She pauses, folds her hands behind her back. "Are you a…?"

"An intern?" Casey shakes his head. "Not me. I live here. I help out, that's all."

"Oh."

"Oh," Casey parrots. He feels it. The conversation is dying. Save it, quick! "What brings you to Two Island Ranch? Are you a Breeder?"

"Like, do I have a lot of babies? That's a strange question, Casey."

Oh, Brianna. Casey narrowly avoids tripping over his tongue. "I meant if you breed Pokemon."

She shakes her head. Casey's eyes fight, one wanting to marvel at the chestnut locks and the other still resting on her gaze. "I'm a Trainer," Brianna says. "From Kanto."

"Kanto? What's a civilized Kanto Trainer doing on lame old Two Island?"

"Two Island isn't lame, it's just…quiet. I like to think my whole life is just…chasing one quiet moment after another." Brianna stares through Casey. At something she can't touch.

A wistful smile spreads on her round, porcelain face.

"That's interesting," Casey says blankly. What was he supposed to say?

It was weird. Brianna knows it. She feels her face turning cherry red. Thank the stars in the sky for hiding it. "I'm just visiting someone," Brianna says. "She doesn't know I'm here yet. I'm kind of killing time."

"Oh? Who is she?" He thinks it over. "I mean, I might know her. I've lived here my whole life, and it's a small island. The people inside were at my middle school graduation."

Brianna sees the conversation tree in her head. Two dialogue options: tell Casey about her and Sophie, or don't. Either one drastically alters her time at Two Island Ranch. She knows it.

"Middle school graduation?" She presses. Choice two: keep her secrets, and ask this standoffish boy about himself to deflect suspicion. That's how it's done. "How old are you, Casey?"

"Sixteen. How old are _you_?"

"Sixteen," Brianna replies. "Huh. I don't even remember middle school. I don't think I graduated, actually. I left home when I was twelve. My family wasn't too thrilled…"

Brianna hits the nail on the head. "What's your family like?"

Her social tact never failed to impress.

To his credit, Casey had bungled enough situations in the past. He knew exactly what could be said to punish her for the comment. Lord knows he's been on the receiving end time and again.

Fortunately, Casey was a believer in being the change he wished to see in the world.

"Right now? You've met my family," Casey says cheerfully.

And before Brianna can push the envelope: "Have you…been inside the garage yet?" He laughs at his own words. "That's not as sketchy as it sounds, I promise. We keep the tykes inside."

"The tykes?" Brianna tilts her head, making Casey's chest heave.

"The newborns," Casey clarifies. "We get a bunch of eggs from Wonder Trade. They hatch, we take care of them, and they get traded to mainland day care centers." The smile on his face overflows with pride. "I raise them myself. Owen helps, but still."

Brianna takes a tentative step. She points at the door. "You're sure I can go in?"

"Sophie won't rip your head off if you're caught," Casey sings. It goes unspoken between them: would you prefer the party or the garage?

Brianna has a record of choosing Pokemon, obviously.

Casey pulls the door open and steps inside. Brianna stays close behind him, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She wonders why he won't get the lights, and then she hears the gentle snores of newborn Pokemon.

"This way," Casey nudges. Brianna steps further inside, and when Casey closes the door, gentle marine lights shine from the garage corners. "Nightlights," he explains, his voice at a whisper. "What little kid doesn't like nightlights?"

Brianna watches the sleeping Mareep, Oddish, and Jynx with her eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Memorizing this scene. A photograph in her mind.

Casey catches her in the act. "This is your first ranch, huh?"

She nods once, twice.

"Hey, then you'll love this."

He strains to sound as un-excited and not-creepy as he can, but it's difficult. Explaining exciting things to new people isn't Casey's forte. He moves toward the opposite end of the garage, past the playpen and the nursery of eggs beside it. He worries that Brianna won't follow, but she does. Her eye lands on each and every egg as she walks.

"The nursery," Casey points as he whispers, "Is for eggs that are just about to hatch. When the Pokemon breaks its shell, the first thing it'll see is other eggs and other Pokemon its own age." He shrugs. "It's not _as_ good as seeing your mother first-thing, but it helps make them comfortable."

Brianna imagines being a Pokemon, hatching from its egg, and seeing other Pokemon and eggs. It would be weird, sure. She laughs. Would it be any weirder to see Sophie and assume she's your mother?

The temperature drops around them. Brianna whips her head to back in front of her. She and the not-so-standoffish boy stand before a tall glass box. It stretches from the floor to the ceiling. She folds her arms to fight the sudden cold. The solid steel bars holding the case together seem positively arctic.

The nightlights dance around the one item inside—seemingly a steel oval—as it bounced up and down inside the box.

"What's this, the refrigerator?" Brianna laughs.

"Nah, but good try. That round thing inside?" Casey points with a lax finger. "It's a premature egg. We got it from Wonder Trade a couple days ago."

"Premature?"

"Most eggs hatch with enough heat and time. This one needs to be walked and cuddled, too. He'll be a clingy fellow when he hatches."

"When he hatches," Brianna repeats. "He'll be healthy, right?"

"Oh, definitely. Keeping the egg in this machine simulates the movements of walking, but the cold air keeps it from heating and hatching before it goes to the nursery."

Brianna whistles. "You guys think of everything, huh?"

"Not exactly. Randall likes to _think_ he does."

"Randall Blevins? The guy that owes that money to the Adelsons, right?" Her hand rushes to her mouth as soon as the words are out. "I shouldn't have said that. I should _not_ have said that."

Casey finds himself genuinely laughing. "Why not? It's the truth. Didn't one of the Adelsons come by today, or something like that?"

"Something like that."

"What happened?" He asks. "It looks like there was a drag race tournament in the yard, is all. A lowly farmhand has a right to be curious."

It's not a big deal to Casey that the yard is a mess. Not really. Nor is it a problem that the tykes were near the danger. Though when Brianna folds and fidgets with her hands, he starts to wonder if it _is_ a problem.

Brianna sees it, too. This isn't the first time she's taken too long to lie. Why is she lying left and right, anyway? Not everyplace is Huntington, Brianna. Casey is not your uncle.

"There was a fight," Brianna starts.

"I can see that."

"No, really…there was a _fight_. A Pokemon Battle. Adelson's guys wanted to hurt Owen."

Casey pictures the situation. The girl catching an in-transit fist doesn't cross his imagination.

Brianna continues. "I didn't want to be involved. I was just walking, and Owen stopped and asked if I could help him with something." Then, a smile. "But I guess I was able to help. That's always good, right?"

"So you fought the Cue Balls, huh?"

Brianna nods, her curls bobbing in succession.

They're pretty tough, Casey almost says. They beat the snot out of Sophie and Wonder the first time she stood up to them.

Brianna cuts him off: "They weren't anything. They were like that phrase, 'don't write a check your behind can't cash?' And those guys were like…definitely overdrafting their accounts, you know?"

This strange girl has Casey laughing again. He hasn't laughed this much, or this freely, in quite a while. Not since Randall introduced them all to Kimmie Gracie Cole. That's the next chapter, though. Right now, Casey is smiling. There's a gentle flutter in his chest.

When Brianna gets quiet, they're alone in the ranch garage. Nothing between them but the gentle hum of the egg machine, and the quiet snores of the tykes. The blue nightlights bathe them in an aquamarine hue. Hazel and blue fill Casey's vision.

A _crash_ against the door! Brianna and Casey jump out of their skin.

The door swings open and it's the lauded intern herself, holding Wonder by the braids. She sticks her head inside and sways. "Anybody home?"

Casey waves. "Hey, Sofs."

"_Casey!_ You sly dog. Showing the new girl your cool toys."

It was Casey's turn to flush crimson. He looked a sickly purple in the nightlights, and he's praying the new girl doesn't notice.

"Get on inside!" Sophie drawls. "Wonder was looking everywhere for you. He looked all sad and stuff!"

Of course Wonder would rat Casey out. Thanks to years of awkward party-going, Casey made it a habit of hanging out with Wonder instead of socialize. Casey felt bad for a moment; he left Wonder out to dry.

Casey waits for Brianna to exit first, but she's still watching him, waiting for him to take the lead. When he moves to leave, Brianna starts as well, and they're suddenly a bumbling circus of limbs.

Sophie shakes her spinning head.

When Casey exits, he glares. "What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing, boss." Sophie closes the door behind Brianna. The girls go back to the party, Brianna marching silently behind her boisterous replacement host.

A breeze rushes through him. Ice cold.

He turns to face it. He already knows where it came from. He feels it every time he comes out to the garage. If he wants to be honest with himself, he went with Randall Blevins specifically to be away from that breeze.

To be away from this feeling.

He faces the forest, beyond the broken boundary of the fence and just past the road.

Casey is frozen. Until…

"Case-face, hurry up!" Sophie bellows. And inside he goes.

…

I remain outside.

Casey is a sweet boy. And Brianna is a sweet girl. Even with the likes of Kimmie and Randall, they would be fine alone for the night.

I have other matters to attend to. I wait for the back screen door to slam shut to reveal myself. I find a perch above the garage, and there I wait. I wait for the breeze that was not a breeze. I wait for the surge of psychic energy to pulse from the forest again. Humans are never aware of the psychic power of Legendary Pokemon. It makes us harder to find, and when we are found, makes us so impossible to be captured. That Casey can feel our powers is…

Not my current problem. The pulse races through me again.

I check the Shepard home again. I cannot be seen, especially not by Brianna herself. The other players are all important, but Brianna is the top priority.

Nobody comes. I leap from my perch and fly toward the forest. The psychic energy leaves a trail along the air and I glide through it, each individual piece of trail like a checkmark. The branches scrape and dig into my flesh, clip at my tail. I want to slow down, but I cannot afford it.

I have felt this presence once before. From so many years ago, when I traveled with another Trainer who accepted my burden. This was the kind of power one does not forget. Its presence burns itself into your memory, like a foul smell. I remember my first whiff of it, outside Cerulean Cave. It was the first time I found a place I genuinely did not want my Trainer to enter.

I have been with Brianna through much hardship.

But I have never _feared_ for her, like I feared for my Trainer then.

The woods end and I am overlooking the coast. The trees part to a cliff. I find no trace of human interference, no campgrounds and no use of farm equipment. I also find no trace of _him_.

The pulse goes dead.

He was here.

I must move fast.

The next day will be crucial.

* * *

Thanks for reading, as always, and thanks double if you let me know in a review!


	4. Kimmie

The Summer of Two Island

…

Chapter 4 - Kimmie

Kimberly wakes up on the floor of the Shepard home. The first things she feels are the requisite splitting headache of a wild night, and her skirt riding up her sore legs. She gropes around her surroundings, flailing at the living room table for support, and struggles to stand. She's not still drunk, thank God. And courtesy of a recent diet calling for no foods after eight, she doesn't have an urge to puke her guts out.

Though she couldn't remember much past arriving at the Shepard home last night. And that skeezeball Randall is nowhere to be seen. A crawl goes up between her shoulders.

She needs fresh air.

Kimberly—or Kimmie, as she calls herself—navigates the battlefield of red cups and paper plates. She finds her shoes tied together by the front door. She slips her feet into them, then pulls the ribbons out of her hair and lets it hang. It's part of the morning ritual. There are certain things she refuses to do anywhere but in her own restroom. Her self-avowed iconic twintails don't have that restriction.

Her stomach growls. Kimmie staggers to the kitchen. She's not surprised when of the ten boxes of pizza, the only survivor is a half-eaten slice. She's grateful nonetheless. Her jaw still working at the chewy morning-after crust, Kimmie's hands fly to the refrigerator. She's a house guest; she's entitled to drink straight out of the orange juice carton.

She should have checked if her mouth tasted funny. She shrugs off the momentary pause and contemplates washing her face in the sink. What's less disgusting: using Owen's restroom or his sink?

The lesser of two evils wins out. Five minutes later she exits the restroom and dares her subconscious to ever bring the experience up again.

…What now?

I recognize the confusion on Kimmie's face from Brianna's early childhood (because honestly, all of these young people are still children). It's the same confusion Brianna would have after waking up before the host of a sleepover. Should she pretend to go back to sleep? Can she simply go home? Or is it fine to watch TV…but doesn't that obligate her to clean?

Kimmie laughs at that last one. As if she would ever clean up any mess besides her own. What was she, the maid?

She feels in her pockets for the keys, hoping Drunk Kimmie was responsible. Drunk Kimmie did one better: Sober Kimmie finds keys, wallet, and three Pokeballs left waiting at her waist. She never brought her Pokedex outside the apartment.

Kimberly Cole was a twenty-year-old girl who grew up in Mauville City, a world away in a country called Hoenn. She wore pigtails, flirted too much, and hated her parents for no good reason.

Kimmie Gracie Cole was a twenty-year-old Pokemon Trainer. And she had the Pokedex, the eight badges of Hoenn, and the firepower to back it up.

We all craft our narratives out of the true history we all share, and this was Kimmie's. She hadn't picked up after anybody but herself since starting her journey so many years ago. And after a brief stop back home that didn't work out ("Kimberly, when are you going back to school?"), she had never done so again. And if anyone asked her to do anything she didn't want, that someone got a Sky Uppercut to the face. Such was the prerogative of the Pokemon Trainer.

I would not be the first person to call her spoiled, stubborn, or inconsiderate.

I would also not be the first Legendary to challenge her. I hadn't heard from Kyogre in years.

Anyway. Kimmie tied her hair back up and jingled her keys in her hand. She's crossing the party floor and is opening the door, headed for home.

"You've got it all wrong, Casey."

Kimmie stops. Hand on the doorknob, but not turning. She listens.

"Really?" Case-face chuckles. "Well, Pokemon Trainer Brianna. Tell me, what am I getting wrong?"

Pokemon Trainer Brianna? If there were another strong Trainer on the island, Kimmie would have known about them a while ago…Or is this that girl Kimmie didn't recognize last night?

"Well, you're not _all_ wrong. I used to hate my home, too. That's what home is: it's a place that forgives you. You hate it and want to burn it to the ground, but at the end of the day, it's still home. It never holds that against you as long as you're willing to come back."

"You never came back home?" Casey asks. And bless his heart, he's so _sincere_. Teenage boys are adorable.

"I did," Pokemon Trainer Brianna struggles. "But Celedon City was…different. No, _I_ was different. I didn't see it as home anymore. I saw the city like I saw all the other cities I had been to." She gives a hollow laugh. "I caught myself trying to find the Gym on my first day back."

Kimmie knows that feeling. Like most Pokemon Trainers young enough to remember and regret their adolescence, Kimmie ran away from home. She hitched a ride to Littleroot Town, found herself helping Professor Birch during a freak Zigzagoon attack—talk about an oxymoron—and came out with a Torchic two hours later.

She spent a week in Mauville City, training her Pokemon for the Gym Challenge, before remembering her family at all.

"Whatever Celedon City meant to me, whatever ideal of home I had, it was gone." Pokemon Trainer Brianna says. "I wouldn't give anything to have it back…but I would have liked to know what I was giving up."

Kimmie has a familiar burning in her chest.

She's only heard this girl's wistful teenage complaints, and she already knows: Pokemon Trainer Brianna is a worthy opponent.

"Maybe it's not really 'giving it up'," Casey offers. His voice is just as soft and tentative as hers. It's a dance in dialogue. "Maybe you defined home for the wrong reasons. Home was where your parents and school and friends were, right?"

Silence. Kimmie assumes Pokemon Trainer Brianna nods.

"Right. Home can mean more than that. My home is the tykes, and Owen and Randall and even Sophie. You're trying to find home again, Brianna." He pauses. Then he adds: "And you will. Just wait."

Oh, god. Kimmie opens the door on them before she hears kissy noises.

She meets Casey's gaze first. Like she thought: the kiddies are sitting on the top step, watching the tall grass twist and twirl with the island breeze. Casey is one of those boys that blushes, and bless his heart, he was red like the stop sign Kimmie always ignored by the market. Kimmie pushes the door all the way, and there's Pokemon Trainer Brianna beside him. Her long chestnut curls bounce with her every movement, and her planetoid eyes remind Kimmie of Verdanturf Town. An abundance of green, framed by porcelain chubby cheeks and rosy lips.

Poor Casey.

"What are you laughing at?" Casey's voice hangs.

"My life," Kimmie says. She closes the door softly and extends a hand to the girl. "The name's Kimmie."

"Kimmie Gracie Cole?" Brianna remembers. "We met last night."

"Technically, no. That was Drunk Kimmie. She's a bit of a scumbag."

Pokemon Trainer Brianna catches on quick. Kimmie used that joke on Sophie, and the girl flat-out said it wasn't funny. It took all of Randall's cunning to salvage the moment.

"Alright, then," Brianna sings. "I'm Brianna. Nice to meet you, Not-Drunk Kimmie Gracie Cole."

She has a firm handshake. Brianna has a backbone. Her eye contact isn't all there, but considering Brianna was waist-deep in mediocre flirtatious dialogue, that could be forgiven.

"Same here, Pokemon Trainer Brianna." First rule of meeting another girl: compliment her outfit. "Nice shorts."

Brianna remembers the cutoffs that come midway up her thigh. "I like them," she admits. "They're comfy and easy to wear."

The door opens again, this time nearly clocking Kimmie in the head. Kimmie is about to swear and demand who would _dare_, but the answer is fast.

"Sophie," Kimmie drawls. "You're alive after all."

Sophie fails to rub the bags from her eyes. Her outfit hangs off of her small frame, and her face is still obviously asleep. "That I am." Then: "Ugh, I'm never drinking again, Kimmie. You look just like I feel."

Brianna lets Kimmie's hand drop. The three girls stand on the front porch, and to any on-lookers, they might as well be standing still and posing for a portrait.

Casey knows better than to open his mouth, or even make himself acknowledged.

Sophie breaks the silence. She adjusts the long shirt so it fits like it should. "Randall's inside looking for you," she says curtly. "And Case-face, the Randler wants your help fixing the fence."

"The fence I didn't have a hand in destroying?"

"Exactly that one. We don't make guests lift heavy logs." She's going back inside already, not acknowledging Brianna beyond that simple statement. Casey smiles at her before going inside, and Kimmie waits a moment before following.

"Brianna?"

The hazel eyes perk to attention.

"Be careful around him," Kimmie says. It takes everything in her to remain serious. But this _is_ serious, she admits. "He's fragile."

As if I'm not, Brianna thinks. But she doesn't say it. Brianna doesn't even challenge the unsaid assumptions about her and Casey. She simply nods and waits for Kimmie to leave. Just like her auntie Cindy said: she's so polite.

Inside the Shepard home is still an unmitigated disaster. The back door slams behind Casey, though Owen and Randall remain in what seems like a heated debate. They had changed their clothes from the previous night, yet continued to drink from their same bottles. Kimmie checks the clock on the wall.

"It's not even noon, fellas," she chides.

Owen tries to make eye contact with her—the kind that says 'be quiet!'—but it's too late. Randall rounds on her. "You're right, it's not even noon. It's ten-thirty. We're late. Get your things, and Sophie, make yourself look somewhat presentable. The two of you are going into town."

"As much as I love an opportunity to bond with your intern," Kimmie lies through her pretty white teeth. "What is this about?"

"It's the reason you're here in the first place," Randall replies, injecting venom into the words. "This was supposed to get done last night, but someone had to authorize a party on the farm property."

Owen smiled.

"Sign-ups opened last night at midnight. We were supposed to _be_ there, but that obviously didn't happen."

"And whose fault is that?" Kimmie says bravely. She doesn't recoil at Randall's death gaze. She was one of the only people in the house that Randall couldn't fire, and she wore that distinction like a badge of honor. "Besides, nobody on Two Island is interested. Sign-ups will be my name followed by Mister Blank Line, I assure you, sweetie."

Randall fidgets at the sentiment, and hopes nobody noticed. It was rather the opposite.

Owen seizes the moment and breaks the tension. "All right. Kimmie, you can drive, right?"

Kimmie nods.

"Good. Sophie and I are taking you to get signed up. Five minutes."

"Yes, sir." Kimmie gives a mock salute. Sophie shuffles around the living room, flailing for her shoes under a pile of paper plates and pizza crusts. I fear for Owen then: he'd be locked in a hot-pink tin can barreling down the road, caught between his boss's not-really-girlfriend and his intern. Such are the things we do for Pokemon, Owen thinks.

He sees someone raise her hand on the front porch, removed from the action. She looks positively middle-school, holding her chin down and bobbing her knees nervously. "Yes, Miss Brianna?"

She points to herself with the same hand. "What do you want me to do?"

"You're the guest," Sophie calls out. "Like I said. It's thanks for beating the tar out of the Cue Balls."

I want Brianna to accept that and spend the day lounging on the couch, watching mediocre Sevii Island television. I also know her too well to ever expect that. She raises her hand again.

"Yes, Brianna?" Owen enjoys the moment.

"I feel bad just sitting around, though." Her voice shrinks through the sentence. It's pitiful enough—but just sweet enough—that Sophie bounces onto her feet and beams.

"Fair enough. You're coming with us." She adds: "Unless you want to help with some heavy lifting."

"Riding in the car," Brianna picks quickly. "Riding in the car is good."

"That's what I thought! Besides, we need you. You have the most important job."

"Oh?"

There's a strange clawing at Sophie's foot. She bends over and picks up Wonder, then hugs him to her chest. "Yeah, it's crucial. You have to keep me and Kimmie from killing each other."

There's an awkward laugh from Brianna.

Kimmie takes out her car keys. "It's funny because you think she's kidding."

…

Kimmie learned to drive back in Mauville City's infamous congested streets. Her driving test instructor went back and forth between failing and passing her thanks to other vehicles nearly totaling them on the road, and Kimmie having the reflexes to swerve out of the way. To date, she had never been in an accident or been pulled over. She had barely dodged other cars trying to hit her, thereby getting _other_ cars into accidents. But she herself had a stellar record.

So, when she drifts the car around a turn and tears down the empty road between corners of island fields, Kimmie can't grasp why Brianna is holding the panic bar beside her. "I'm not going to get us killed, you can relax," she says.

"I am relaxed," Brianna says as convincingly enough to be the lead in a high school play. Kimmie swerves to avoid a paper bag in the street; Brianna's panicked squeak sends Kimmie into conniptions.

"Stop making fun of her," Sophie orders from the back seat. She has to project her voice over the roar of the engine and the blaring Simple Minds album. Wonder bobs in the middle seat, his gelatinous body warping like tilted jello with each hard turn.

"I'm not making fun. I'm getting us there at a reasonable hour, _and_ I'm taking the long way around so I can drop you off at that sketchy corner shop you run."

The comment sits in a lull among the four riders. None of them wants to start a war.

"What are you registering for, anyway?" Brianna asks. "You and Owen, I mean."

Kimmie shifts the car into neutral. They're going ninety on gravity alone. She thinks she deserves some kind of medal for the achievement. "Technically, it's just me. Owen's going and signing me up as a sponsor." She finds him in the rear-view. "Which he doesn't have to be physically present for, by the way."

"Kimberly, are you accusing your sponsor of avoiding farm work?"

"What are you sponsoring her for?" Brianna asks. She repeats the question when it's lost in the noise.

"The Cup. It has this thing where you can't donate the money to an organization unless you set the relationship up before-hand as a sponsor." Kimmie takes a hand off the wheel and gestures with it. The other hand hangs limp. Brianna wonders when she'll see her life flash before her. "You probably didn't have to worry about it. It's all this fine-print bureaucracy crap."

Kimmie turns her head to face Brianna, while simultaneously shifting into drive and gunning the car. "Speaking of which, you're not allowed to beat me. I'm sure you came here intending to win and build up your portfolio or whatever, but the ranch needs this, so stay out of my way."

"I kind of have no idea what you're talking about," Brianna says honestly.

"Yeah, right." Kimmie remembers the car has a brake as Two Island Market appears in the distance. "Like you came all this way from _Kanto_ to not be in the Sevii Cup."

"What's the Sevii Cup?"

Kimmie grips the wheel. "Now you're just playing dumb."

"No, she's not," Sophie comes to the rescue. "Not everyone lives in a fancy apartment right next to the stadium, Kimmie."

Within seconds, tents, umbrellas, and even cardboard stands replace the tall grass around them. Kimmie drifts the car into a parking space in front of the glistening Pokemon Center.

"What do you know? We're here." Kimmie turns to face Sophie. "Your patch of dirt is across the street. Can you get everything out of the trunk on your own?"

Owen reaches over and unbuttons Sophie's seat-belt, then opens her door. He's strategically blocking her arms from throwing blows, Brianna realizes. Sophie's jaw flexes, and her eyebrows clench.

"Deep breaths," Owen says. "You can't tell happy fortunes with negative juju."

"You use juju?" Brianna asks. "Isn't that stuff dangerous?"

"He was joking," Sophie drawls. She unbuckles Wonder and he's out the door, dancing on the sidewalk and enjoying the fresh air. We Pokemon do enjoy fresh, non-hung-over oxygen from time to time.

Sophie slides out the door and bangs on the trunk hood. The thought crosses Kimmie's mind to drive off and leave Sophie stranded, but she finds both Brianna and Owen in the mirror. Caught in the act. She opens the trunk hood as promised, and it snapped shut quickly after. Sophie crossed the street and began setting up her booth. Wonder waved at the car with both hands.

"Good enough for me," Kimmie says. She's about to hit the accelerator when Owen knocks her on the top of the head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"You should probably park here," he says calmly. "Unless you want to start paying for parking."

"They don't charge for parking here, do they?" Brianna asks thoughtfully, fingertip to lip.

Kimmie begrudgingly accepts the suggestion. She switches the engine off and rips the key out of the ignition. "They do since Kanto tourists started showing up."

"Sorry." Brianna's apology goes ignored.

The heat bears down on them instantly. Kimmie is jealous: Owen grew up with the heat and stopped noticing it after age ten, while Brianna hid under her white cap. This is the kind of extreme heat Team Magma nearly caused, Kimmie remembers quite un-ironically.

"How far do we have to walk?" Kimmie whines. The car locks with a satisfying click. "I can't battle if I'm melted, Owen."

"It's not far. We'll be there before you know it." Owen starts walking, and Brianna is following obediently. Kimmie spies Sophie's umbrella across the street, and the twintailed Trainer feels a quick burst of envy. It's lightning-bolt quick, and then she's grossed out by the notion.

Sophie may have an umbrella, but she's not Kimmie Gracie Cole.

"Hey!" Kimmie hollers. "Wait for me!" She runs after Owen and Brianna, and the sun guarantees she feel every step.

They remain silent until they come to Two Island Stadium. Which, like everything else…

"They definitely named it right," Brianna muses. The hulking blue dome casts a refreshing shade over the group. Owen marches forward to the box office, hands in his pockets and pants legs sagging over his heels and under his sandals.

Kimmie wonders: how long is the Kanto Kid gonna stand and gawk?

"Oh! What is it?" Brianna asks when Kimmie jams a hand in her face.

"Nothing," Kimmie laughs.

Ugh. Girls.

No, that's not fair. Take two:

Ugh. Kimmie.

She finds Owen chatting up the pretty boy at the box office window. There are a lot of pretty island boys, but Owen seemed to know every one. Kimmie approaches the two of them with a grimace. If it weren't for Owen Shepard, she wouldn't have to go around dealing with Owen's attitude…

"There she is? The one and only Mistress of All Evil," Owen says at her approach.

She watches the pretty blond boy at the window. His blue eyes watch her and make the snap decision: if Good Guy Owen thinks she's bad news, then she's bad news.

Every guy on the island had her labeled as Bad News…every guy that wasn't Randall Blevins.

Not-Drunk Kimmie felt a gag in her throat.

"I'm going to be the Mistress of Not Helping in a minute," Kimmie recovers.

"There's no need for that." Owen brushes her off, then beams at the desk boy. "I called last night, remember? Cruella DeVil here is registering for the Sevii Cup, and Two Island Ranch is sponsoring."

"Is that right?" The desk boy gives Kimmie a second once-over. She feels his eyes stop at the Pokeballs on her belt, hidden but poking out under her shirt. Funny, she usually liked boys staring at her hips. He types at an old computer. "Kimberly Cole?"

"Kimmie Gracie Cole, Pokemon Mercenary," she corrects, brushing her twin-tails with outstretched fingers.

"Pokemon Mercenary?" Brianna is behind them. "What's that?"

"A Trainer for hire," Owen answers.

"Oh! Like Adelson and the Cue Balls!"

…Oh, Brianna. Kimmie wonders if the naïve girl catches her eye twitch.

"_Not_ like the bloated Adelsons and their amateur flying monkey Cue Balls," she boasts. "_I_ hold Champion status from the Hoenn League, distinction as a Frontier Brain, _and_ a medal of appreciation from Elite Four Steven himself."

Brianna's eyes glaze. "Wow! Really?"

"Really," Kimmie says.

…And just like that, Brianna's opinion of Kimmie Gracie Cole shifts into the negative. It's subtle. Her bright smile remains, but the feeling fades from her muscles. She goes from a beaming teenage girl to a grinning mannequin. The happy hazel lights in her round face turn off.

"Is that so," is all Brianna offers.

In Kimmie's defense, it wasn't _all_ BS. As I told you, she _did_ play the most important role in the Rayquaza incident, defeating Kyogre initially and then asking begging Rayquaza to end the struggle permanently. I can vouch for that, much to Rayquaza's chagrin.

The other stuff…There is some fiction in Kimmie's truth, and some truth in Kimmie's fiction.

Thankfully, the Two Island Desk Boy doesn't think too hard. "Got it," he says after a flurry of keystrokes. He prints a name label and slides it under the glass window. "Kimmie Cole—"

"Kimmie _Gracie_ Cole. Re-print it."

Two Island Desk Boy looks to Owen. "Do what she says," he sighs.

Another label slides under the glass. "Kimmie Gracie Cole, Hoenn-based and appearing on behalf of Two Island Ranch," he recites. Kimmie takes it in her hands and gives the label a once-over. Her name is in bold, sparkling non-comic-sans letters, just like it should be.

They start back for the car when Brianna's hand flies in the air. Owen laughs. "We're not in school, you know. It's fine to ask a question."

"Sorry."

"Quit apologizing, too. It's weird," Kimmie says.

It shuts Brianna up, and Owen has to pull her draw-string again. "What is it, Bri?"

"Brianna," she corrects. She doesn't realize it's rude until a year from now, tragically. "I was wondering…"

"It's about the Sevii Cup, isn't it," Kimmie sighs. Brianna nods excitedly. Her bangs hide the awkward blush, and Kimmie feels a pinch of anger. She couldn't be that cute if she had a gun to her head.

"Why do you need Kimmie to win?" She asks. "Does the ranch need money to pay the Adelsons?"

And when Kimmie laughs at the bluntness of the question: "Did I say something funny?"

"Nah, not really." Owen touches his stomach. "Are you two hungry?"

"Kind of?" Brianna says.

"Good, because you question is a talk-over-lunch, don't-tell-Sophie type deal. Kimmie's favorite."

"True story," Kimmie agrees.

…

"So…why are you buying us lunch if the ranch is broke?"

Owen flinches. His hand slips and parmesan cheese soaks the pizza slice in his hand. "Jeez, Brianna. You don't hold any punches, do you? Excluding ones thrown by hulking weightlifters."

No, Owen hadn't bought them lunch at Two Island Pizza. Pizza was Sinnovan cuisine. The owner immigrated a few years ago and had ignored the naming tradition. 'Twinleaf by the Slice' stuck out like a sore thumb, a hole in the wall establishment beside the Pokemart and Two Island Liquors. The older generation refused to acknowledge the restaurant.

Though considering you could count the members of the 'older generation' on one hand, that didn't amount to much.

Kimmie reached for another slice of the cheese pizza between them. "No, it's a valid question. Why are you burning your money like it's going out of fashion, Owen?"

"Zip the lip, Hired Muscle," Owen retorts. Then to Brianna: "Some people live according to numbers and facts…"

"…And bank statements…"

Owen attempts to ignore Kimmie. His cringe betrays him. "I prefer to live life by feelings. Moment by moment, feeling by positive or negative feeling. If I act like we have no money and we're hilariously close to living on the streets, then that negativity sets in. And if there's one emotion that contributes to _zero_ productivity, it's negativity."

Brianna nods. She knows that too well.

Kimmie, on the other hand…"You know that just sounds like you're full of it, right?" When she faces Brianna, Kimmie narrowly manages not to lose herself in the girl's stare.

Dear God, she thinks. There are girls that look like her, and I'm here busting my ass every day.

Okay, not every day. But most days. It ain't easy being Kimmie.

"Bri—"

"Bri_anna_."

"Briawhn-uh," Kimmie exaggerates. "The ranch is flat broke. Good ole' Owen and Randall are two of the worst mathematicians you'll ever meet. They burned through their government paycheck for the year, and were even worse about managing loans.

"_So, _the Sevii Cup rolls around. I dunno, something about a ten-million-dollar cash prize resonated with them.

"Thing is, this year is different. You're looking at the three-time Sevii Cup Champ, kid." She waits for Brianna to demand to not be called a child. The demand never comes. Smart girl. "But that was before the sweet archipelago became a tourist destination."

"There was _never_ a cash prize," Owen chimes in. "But the powers that be know that mainland talent will show up this year. Not the rookies like before, but actual challengers. Which, by the way…nothing against that! If mainland Trainers start winning, then Sevii Island becomes fancier, the ranch becomes more famous, provided it still exists by then…

"Plus, Randall thinks he's dating Kimmie."

Kimmie flushes so powerfully red, I'm afraid she'll spontaneously combust. Owen continues: "She volunteered to fight for us, and here we are."

"Hold on, you –"

I honestly have never heard such foul language.

She continues: "I did not _volunteer_. That sad sack of saggy tits came by my castle in the sky—"

"You mean your overpriced sex den?"

"—And he begged me to fight for the ranch. Begged me! Got on his hands and knees and begged me!"

"Uh-huh," Owen nodded. "After that, that's when you guys started to actually talk business, right?"

Kimmie, like Sophie, wanted to strangle the life out of Owen Shepard.

Though quite unlike Sophie, Kimmie harbored no feelings for Owen and no conflicting loyalty to the ranch. And, like so many egotistical girls her age, she hated to be made fun of. Putting Kimmie in charge of saving the ranch was a recipe for disaster.

Brianna sees it right away. "This is a recipe for disaster."

"Excuse me?" The vein in Kimmie's neck throbs. Owen wisely busies himself with his pizza.

"You guys don't get along." Brianna plays to her knowledge as a Pokemon Trainer. "If you don't work together, you never succeed. That's not even a battling thing, that's just how life works."

"Yeah, well," Kimmie shrugs. "I'm the best they're gonna get, and if you ask me, Bri?"

"Bri-_anna_," Owen corrects.

"Whatever. If you ask me? Hoenn Pokemon beat Kanto Pokemon every time. It's Darwin-Style Rock-Paper-Scissors." She leans back into the booth and beams. If it were anyone else, I might have seen a hint of fear at the competition, or reluctance to help the ranch, or annoyance at Brianna's presence. Kimmie's smile and confidence is as genuine as the sun is bright overhead.

She sipped at her drink and winked at the unconvinced Trainer across the table. "I've got this, Brianna."

"You got her name right. Good job with that," Owen says. "If you can write it down, too, then you're officially smarter than I gave you credit for."

Owen and Kimmie start to go back and forth, but Brianna pays no attention. As I have told you, there is a reason I have followed Brianna around, and it does not entirely owe itself to her past and the choice she made at age twelve, which we will discuss in the next chapter. I do not present the Challenge to just anybody. Brianna often sees in people what I do not, just as a friend will see in his girlfriend what goes missed.

Brianna sees the truth behind Kimberly Cole's façade.

She knows right away: Kimmie will not win. She may not be all she says she is, or she may be even better. But she is not A-Trainer material.

Brianna gets an idea.

She pushes it away immediately, dropping it and burying it in the recesses of her mind. She runs from it, as far as she can go, and catches her breath.

…And then the idea is there again. A festering urge within her, from the core of her insides and running through her every cell. The urge to help. The desire to be the hero. The thrill of the challenge, the glory of succeeding, and the simple award of praise.

But she remembers the Challenge. And it fills her with an intoxicating dread.

"Brianna?"

She perks up.

"I asked, are you okay?" Kimmie's rosy cheeks are filling with genuine concern. Any girl who willingly calls Owen Shepard out on his BS is fine by her, even potential rivals. "You're like, flushed or whatever."

"I'm fine," Brianna lies. She sees the opening. "I need to take care of something."

She's already out of the booth and headed for the door when Owen and Kimmie are asking her questions. The last two things she makes out are Owen's 'we're leaving in twenty' and Kimmie's 'don't leave me here with _him_.' The bickering begins again, and life goes on. Brianna doesn't care.

It's the long walk.

She has been down this road before. Not this road specifically, of course. She's never been to the Sevii Islands, never been traveling with Gabby and Dawson—or without Sawyer—and she's never been anywhere so _hot_.

She focuses on the heat. If she focuses on one foot in front of the other, left right left right left, she'll back out. She'll back out and vomit her single slice of pizza all over the sidewalk, and she won't make it to the box office.

She won't make it, and Kimmie will lose. It will have been a fate Brianna could have prevented. With my powers and her skill, she could have prevented it.

Not _my_ powers, of course. Brianna never thinks of me. She is alone.

Brianna smiles into the sun.

"I've been alone for a while," she says to nobody. "I think…I think I missed this."

She twirls on the sidewalk, arms out and on her tippy-toes like a ballerina. Her hair bounces, her not-yet-a-woman body is poetry, and the ocean whispers a lullaby as accompaniment. It's precious.

When the first shaking sobs come, it's heart-wrenching.

"Brianna?"

She sniffles once, twice. She may be a young girl, but she'll be damned if stereotypes allow her to be seen crying.

"Brianna, are you okay? If something's wrong, you can tell me."

It's Sophie. Brianna recognizes the voice. She's never forgotten a friend's voice, human or Pokemon.

"I'm fine," Brianna lies again. She laughs. "I'm fine."

Sophie folds her arms. She's at the crosswalk, standing between her house-guest and the box office. Wonder sits at her head, its fat body jiggling as the world's chubbiest hat. "Really…Tell me, Brianna. Do you lie a lot?"

This gets Brianna's attention.

"Because I'm fine if you didn't tell me certain things for a reason, like it's dangerous and the ranch is in danger. But I hate liars."

"I never lied to you."

"Well, when I asked who you were and the first words weren't 'I'm your cousin, Brianna, from all the way back in Huntington'—"

"I didn't mean to mislead you," Brianna attempts to recover. Her voice hurts.

"You didn't mislead me." Sophie's voice, meanwhile, is a golden hammer. "You just omitted certain truths. What are you doing at my ranch?"

"I'm your cousin—"

"No, I won't accept that one," Sophie says. She wags a finger in Brianna's puffy, sniffling face. "I had to divine that on my own." Then, before Brianna could accuse her of digging into her past: "Why are you _here_? Are you working with the Adelsons? Is that it? You're a Mercenary, like Kimmie."

Brianna shakes her head.

"Huh. Really. Well, if you're really the newest Champion, why aren't you signing up for the Sevii Cup?"

"I was…"

"You were _what_?" Sophie demands.

Brianna tries again, but the words won't come. It's admitting you're going back to the trenches after winning the war. And that depends on how loosely you define 'winning'.

Deep breath. You can do it. I'm willing her: you can do it.

"I'm registering," she says.

"What changed your mind? Did lounging around my home bore you that fast? Typical Brianna, bouncing in and out of people's lives. Do you know my aunt—your mother—came to me asking where you were? No, I suppose you don't. You lie.

"Or omit truths. Depends on your flavor."

Sophie knows what she's doing. She's being mean, but she's not being _mean_. It's tough love: it pushes the other person to open up and change. And from what Sophie can see, she's prying open her basket case of a cousin. It has to be done, just in case. If the Adelsons—or worse, Chris and Cindy—are involved, it can get ugly fast. Sophie has to cover her bases.

"Here's the truth," Brianna begins.

Sophie nods. Wonder nearly slides off her scalp and onto the frying pan sidewalk. "Let's hear it."

"I'm…it has to stay between us." She adds: "We're family, Sophie."

"Fair enough."

'Fair enough'. Brianna laughs. That's all she needs, but it seemed to be all she ever got as of late.

"I'm registering to fight on my own, but the money is for the ranch. I know people like Kimmie. I like her as a person, but as a Trainer, I…" She laughs. "I eat them for breakfast. She'll lose."

"I don't need your charity, Brianna."

"No, you don't. This isn't charity." Another breath. "It's for me. I promised someone."

"You didn't promise my parents you'd take care of me, did you?" Sophie picks Wonder up in her arms and throws her head back. "God, Brianna. Tell me you didn't bring those close-minded sad sacks to my front door."

"No, not at all. It's…A promise isn't the right term. It's a challenge."

A pause. The lull in the breeze casts a powerful silence over the barren intersection. Sophie shivers. Brianna does not.

"A challenge," Sophie parrots. "I felt something odd about you. What is it?"

"I'll tell you after I buy my pass. It's a long story, and if I don't do it now, I might back out."

"And that would be bad for this…challenge, right?"

Brianna shrugs. It could be good. Could be bad. The world has never been black and white. When Sophie comes to her side, holds her cousin's hand and crosses the street with her, Brianna is relieved.

She's walking death row with extended family. Fair enough.

Brianna buys her way into the tournament. It's the cheapest entry fee she's ever had to pay. The Battle Frontier fee would probably bankrupt the entire island, she thinks. She doesn't say it, thankfully.

"Hey, concessions are open." Sophie points to the booth beside the box office. She misses Brianna's shaking hand as she folds the slip into her backpack. "I'll get you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're also skinny as hell. I'm buying you nachos, and we're sharing. Then we're sitting right over there," Sophie points to the front row bleachers, the only spot in the shade, "And you're telling me your story. Got it?"

Sophie runs to the window and fishes out her money. It takes everything she's earned today to buy the food, but nobody else has to know that.

While Sophie hauls the food back, Brianna is conflicted. Where does her story begin? It's a loaded question: where does anybody's story really begin? Our stories are all interwoven into those of others, dependent on so many decisions that our lives are not our own.

Brianna made a choice. There were so many factors behind it and she arguably had _no_ choice at all, but that was where this life began. At twelve years old, outside Celedon Inner Middle School, holding her backpack full of rations and her diary, was where she first stepped into the world.

She had her beginning.

"When I was twelve," she says at a barely audible whisper. "I met Mew."

Sophie shuts up for good, and Brianna adds: "And what happened next…It wasn't my fault. No matter what, you have to believe that it wasn't my fault."

* * *

...And with that, the long set-up is done and _The Summer of Two Island_ starts moving! Thanks for sticking around, I know this story has been a bit front-loaded. Review if you like what you've read, thanks for getting this far, and I hope you're back for the rest of the story.


	5. Brianna II

The Summer of Two Island

…

Chapter 5 – Brianna

I remember those cold, overcast and bruised afternoons. The four years wash away and I recall Celedon City. I am not my friend Celebi, I cannot control time. I cannot bring you back directly and weave the story before you. But I can remember the world as well as any Legendary, and I hope I can recall these details well enough.

Brianna tells Sophie her truth. I will tell you my version, and I hope there will be no differences. There should not be.

After all, there are only so many truths between us.

For example, Brianna's parents believed that their daughter fell off the wagon out of nowhere. Chris and Cindy believed that her father, always the overbearing helicopter parent, had driven her out of house and home.

The quiet pretty girl who hit Cassidy Jenson's friends so hard they had to be hospitalized. The mousy girl with hazel eyes who beat one boy's face in with his own shoe, cracked several ribs on another, and snapped another's kneecap.

Cassidy Jenson knew: Brianna ran away for one reason.

Her desire to be understood drove her to violence.

…

"You're kidding," Sophie jokes. "You're like, all sugar and honey. I even told Owen you were a valley girl. And we don't have a valley in Sevii Islands," she adds.

Brianna does not smile. "That's what everyone thought," she says.

…

Brianna was never the A student. Or even the B student, for that matter. There are children for whom sitting in one spot for eight hours comes naturally. They grow into young adults that sit in lecture halls for six hours a day—and who can party excessively for two more—and then into citizens who again sit for eight hours, this time in a cubicle. It's cradle-to-grave sitting, and the thought of it pains my back. I digress.

Children are children, and adults are adults. There is no in-between and at any given moment, everyone knows where they stand. Teenagers are still children. Ask a teenager to run a household and raise children and you will see, teenagers are children.

It confuses me, then, why mankind's educators like to inculcate the opposite in youth. It's a constant lie: the world will treat you like an adult until you _are_ one. By screaming in Brianna's face when she forgets her homework that she is, in fact, an adult, it cancels out that message. You do not scream at another adult. You scream at a child. Pretending the opposite is pretending.

I could go on for days about the psychotic paradoxes humans have when raising their young. I have been on this earth since time itself, and let me say: parents and educators are sociopaths wrapped in Christmas present gratitude and smiley-faces on assignments.

I digress, again.

Brianna was told she was an adult at age twelve. Naturally, this message conflicted with her complete lack of control with this "adult" life.

As you've been told, Brianna's father was a controlling character. Perhaps showing you her schedule will explain it further.

She woke up every morning at six. This allowed for a half-hour jog around their expensive neighborhood, then time to shower and eat a strict protein-only breakfast. She walked to school alone, as a rule, to avoid starting the day with distractions.

In class, she was to sit in the middle seat of the second row. This only changed in English, where the students sat in a circle. It was consequently her favorite class.

After walking home, she had exactly ten minutes to change into her gymnastics outfit. Following lessons at the local Y, she was to study until dinnertime, which was followed by piano practice. Bedtime was at nine sharp, perhaps nine-thirty if she had any kind of excitement in the day.

Rinse, repeat.

Brianna had deviated once. Her father caught her walking to school with a friend. Sally Mendelson was an innocuous girl, perhaps as innocuous as they come. Wore a daisy hairclip and yellow dresses up through the present. Her father disagreed.

The night her father brought it up, Brianna certainly did not feel like an adult.

And the next day, when Sally Mendelson became friends with Cassidy Jenson, Brianna felt positively infantile.

…

"See, Cassidy Jenson's one of those girls you don't think can really…exist in reality," Brianna defends herself. "She's gorgeous. All of the boys talked to her and _only_ her. She had excellent grades, the teachers loved her…"

"She was everything you weren't," Sophie says with a show of sincerity.

"Not really," Brianna says. A wistful smile shows. "I had one thing she didn't. I could write."

…

She doesn't exaggerate. Brianna was the star of her English class. In a room of twelve-and-thirteen-year-olds who refused to read anything published and away from a screen, bookworm Brianna alone could answer Mr. Schenker's questions. And for a time, she thrived.

When Mr. Schenker asked the class to write their final projects in narrative form, on _anything_, Brianna's imagination soared. By not telling her father about this particular assignment, she found a first glimpse of adulthood. She didn't love to read, this she knew. But she knew nothing of self-expression.

She would very soon.

Brianna devoted herself to the dangerous art of self-expression.

Brianna wrote in a small pink notebook meant as a diary.

She wrote when she was meant to be asleep. This diary had to be a secret, for both their sakes.

See, Brianna had kept a diary once, and only once. Her mother read it on the first day and scolded her for such vile exposed truths as having received a B grade in science. Brianna's mother didn't know what kind of science it was, never bothered to ask, and I don't suppose it even matters in seventh grade. The grade mattered more than the material.

I sigh.

Humans.

Anyway. Brianna kept the assignment a close secret to herself, pouring her heart into characters and her soul into syntax. She was very tired most of the time. Nobody asked, and so nobody noticed.

Not until the due date of the assignment, when she could not find her notebook in her backpack.

Brianna planned to explain the situation to Mr. Schenker. This was the only teacher who bothered to learn her name. Surely he would be lenient in an honest story of an honest misplacement.

Cassidy Jenson raised her hand.

"Miss Jenson," Mr. Schenker said, surprised. "You bothered to show up to my class today."

"Of course," she said sweetly. Brianna's stomach turned, and the boys' hearts leapt. "I would like to read my assignment. It's for the extra credit you offered."

"Miss Jenson, even with the credit, you'll barely pass my class."

"I'm aware of that," she said sweetly. "May I read my project?"

Mr. Schenker rolled his eyes and allowed the request, at the undying gratitude of her fan club. Teenage boys can be cute when they don't form concerning fan clubs for privileged girls.

"You can guess what happened then," Brianna says. And Sophie nods. Cassidy Jenson produced a small pink diary and began to read.

On the plus side, Brianna's story was a hit. A round of applause from the students and an appreciative nod from a surprised Mr. Dean Schenker. He praised her metaphors' depth and narrative bravery.

Then he called on Brianna. She told the truth: she had lost her story.

Mr. Schenker's eyes turned to gloom. Brianna never forgot the stare. The last light in the damned constellation of stars that was middle school had flickered out.

"You're an adult, Brianna. You should know better than this."

To his credit, he did fish for a reason. Brianna was above this mistake, so what happened? Did she leave it at home?

Brianna shook her her head.

Did she forget it was due today? Because surely she wrote something. She always did.

Brianna's lie was perhaps the only unconvincing one of her life. "No, I didn't. I wrote nothing."

She said it again, for the world to hear. "I did nothing."

It was easier than the truth. Because who would have believed her truth over the popular girl's lie?

Mr. Schenker might have.

But only an adult would know that. Brianna was and is a little girl. She doesn't know if her red face and swelling eyes and burning lungs are noticeable by her classmates. She doesn't care if the world sees. The world can burn.

It's an honest thought. The world can _burn_.

She only wants Mr. Schenker to remain oblivious.

Remain oblivious, please, because he's seen her at her best when nobody else would. Don't cancel that out by seeing her _very_ worst. Not now.

Please, not now.

Unfortunately, the world does not respond to even our most desperate prayers.

Brianna was sent to the nurse to lie down. It was a gesture of kindness. It also acknowledged Brianna's tears.

…

"I kept it together for the rest of the day," Brianna tells her cousin. Sophie is all-ears. "I mean, I would fail the class and my dad would murder me. But I could deal with that. I'm resilient."

Sophie laughs. She makes air quotes with her fingers. "'Resilent'. You _are_ a writer, huh?"

"I was," Brianna says. It's so very grim.

…

Brianna began her walk home after a long day of holding it together. Her inside broke apart with each step. She would never use her imagination again. It was a promise, one just as sacred as the words she used to escape.

She started laughing. She was so _tired_. And if she didn't do a better job of hiding it, she'd be late for gymnastics. Her father could not have that.

…Her father could burn, too. It's the first thought of hatred the little girl has ever had, and her father received the brunt.

Her father could do more than burn. He could screw himself to high hell. Words Brianna would never have said before, would not say out loud for a long time still.

But she felt them, and isn't that the point?

Brianna took the long way home. The unbeaten path. Because she'd get beaten at home, so why beat the road, too? She dodges the familiar suburb and finds herself perusing apartment buildings. It's adorable watching her reaction. She thought _everyone_ lived in large Victorian homes. Were these office buildings?

"But you owe me," the boy's voice rang out. One could hear a pin drop in the small-town silence. Brianna's head turns instinctively.

The apartment building has an underside open for parking. No cars are present. In their stead are three boys from Celedon City North Middle, and with them, Sally Mendelson and Cassidy Jenson.

"I don't care," Cassidy says bravely. "I don't owe you anything. You did me a favor. I didn't ask for it, either."

"You were asking for it when you took that notebook," the boy says. His cronies start to fence the girls in. Brianna watches intently, carefully. She didn't know them. Upperclassmen, maybe. But middle-school-upperclassmen. Thirteen-years-old at best. "Sally even told me you wanted me to steal it. She told us how to get it."

The blow doesn't hit. Brianna is listening, observing.

"So," he puts an arm on the wall and pushes himself onto Cassidy, the other boys eyeing Sally like meat. "That means I get you."

…Now, let me be clear.

I had watched Brianna for a while before this, as well. Only a few years before, but before. I saw glimpses of the anger she held inside. The frustration she held at living a life not her own. The inability to breathe under the pressure of her family. It was only natural for that to come out. When she wrote her assignment, Brianna made the honest effort of voicing her rage. Honest, sweet Brianna voicing an honest frustration.

In another universe, in another time, she took her normal route home. She hated Cassidy Jenson for reading her project. Cassidy was a flat Mean Girl character. She was a caricature to grow out of, just as Brianna would grow into her status as human worker bee, like everyone else. Both girls would become women and this would mean nothing.

In this world we live in, Brianna took a different route. And she saw Cassidy and Sally for who they were.

Sally Mendelson, the friend who betrayed her to another friend. But Brianna believed in 'once a friend, always a friend.' And so Sally was in the clear from Brianna's wrath.

Cassidy Jenson, clearly, was no mean girl. She was just a girl, like Brianna herself. One with older creeping boys who were flailing at her underdeveloped chest. A victim to her premature beauty, even. A tragic figure. Not one to hurt.

Sally and Cassidy did not steal her notebook. They were players in this devious plot, but did not portray the lead roles.

These boys whom Brianna did not know…

Maybe they were the most innocent of all. They didn't know Brianna. They had never seen her before. They didn't know what she put into her project, how much it hurt her to let Mr. Schenker down like the rest of her supposed supporters.

The boys may as well have been a force of nature. Rain drenching Brianna's notebook, fire burning it. Faceless, nameless. Unable to accept forgiveness or offer apologies.

Easy pickings.

The fire in Brianna's stomach spilled over. The boys heard the backpack fall to the ground and the footsteps racing behind them.

Seconds later, the boy directly on Cassidy Jenson would never hear anything out of his left ear ever again. He crumples like a wadded-up sheet of Brianna's father's morning paper.

The boy's friends are too slow to do anything, and Sally Mendelson is too slow to stop her.

There is something to be said about humanity's unspoken creed, for men to never hit women. It's quite endearing. When Brianna dug her nails into one of the boys' eyeballs, kicked him in the chest hard enough to break bone, and dragged him into the dirt for a succession of punches, that rule becomes cringe-worthy. The boy refuses to defend himself. When he recovers, he'll reconsider masculinity for the rest of his life.

Hands are at Brianna's shoulders, heaving her off of the boy. She spins and checks the other body—the final of three boys—with a bloody fist. Her split knuckles cause split lips. This third child is the luckiest. He loses consciousness immediately. He'll wake up missing a few teeth, but otherwise okay.

Brianna stands over the three beaten and bruised bodies.

Her pre-pubescent chest heaves. Her fists clench hard, her fingernails digging into her fleshy palms. It draws blood of her own to mesh with the boys' on her fingers. She waits for someone else, anyone else to challenge her. She doesn't know _who_ she's challenging. But she has broken rules, and as she knows very well from her father's household, breaking rules has consequences. She waited to break those who would punish her.

Their eyes meet, and she decides…Brianna could not break Sally Mendelson.

Looking back, I probably should have characterized Sally Mendelson a bit more. Maybe given her a backstory, or at least a few lines like with Cassidy Jenson. Unfortunately for us, I did not follow that girl. I endured middle school for Brianna alone. And because Brianna's busy schedule allowed her no time to make the friendships that alone can redeem childhood, she never understood Sally Mendelson, either.

Sally has one distinction, as the only girl Brianna ever reached out to.

And the look of terror on Sally's face as she hides behind Cassidy Jenson shatters Brianna. It's the look of someone dealing not with a Pokemon, but with an animal. Terrified. Uncomprehending. Afraid that the attacker will round on them, because the animal attacker has no reason to what it does. It is a force of nature. Sally Mendelson sees the girl as an inhuman, animalistic force of nature.

Brianna falls to her knees.

Her vision begins to blur. She won't pass out. But she'll forget where she is, or who these boys around her are, and why she wears their blood on her hands. She'll begin to cry. And while she sobs loud, snotty tears, nobody will comfort her.

Cassidy Jenson approaches her. Brianna looks up slowly. She rubs her face, and she streaks her pretty cheeks crimson. The pink notebook stares back at her, and Cassidy refuses to make eye contact.

"It's yours," she says. That's all she says. Brianna takes her story back, though when she reaches for it, Cassidy flinches.

Cassidy ran back to Sally Mendelson, gathered up their things, and the two ran. I don't wish I had followed them. Cassidy Jenson currently goes to a fine state school, and Sally Mendelson works an unremarkable job in an office. Their stories ended before beginning.

Brianna stood slowly. No, she doesn't stand, she rises.

I knew then: this had been a prologue. The time was coming.

…

"What did you do?" Sophie asks. She delivers the question in a sensitive whisper. "You went home next, right?"

Brianna laughs. "Wait, you mean Aunt Cindy didn't hear about it?"

Sophie shakes her head.

"Oh, it's great. I raided the fridge and ran. Though I didn't get far."

…

Brianna's mother knew something was off when her daughter didn't return home on time. Perhaps if Brianna were the kind of girl who could walk home with friends, she would have been given a chance to earn her parents' trust. She could have been trusted to make proper friendships and come home at reasonable time. As it stood, Brianna could only be trusted to follow a schedule. And she failed. Something was wrong.

In a stroke of fate, Brianna's mother hopped in her car and drove for the school. Had she gone instead and followed Brianna's exact route home—as was her first idea—she would have passed the bloodied girl on the sidewalk.

Brianna came home and washed her face in the sink. She washed her face, her hands, her fingernails and her hair. And the entire time, she's not thinking about herself. She's not worried about the boys she beat to bloodied pulps laying on the sidewalk, and she's not worried about what Cassidy or Sally might do or say when asked about the bodies. Those are all things adults would ask, and at this point, Brianna knows where the real adults could shove their title.

She's dizzy, tired, delirious, and concerned with the only fear that matters.

What would her parents do to her when they found out she failed a class?

A delirious Brianna devises a plan. It's the plan every child considers at least twice, but it never goes far. Being scolded or slapped or denied dinner for a night is preferable to running away, because you can expect those things. Brianna did not know what to expect from her parents tonight, or ever again. They were just as mysterious and dangerous and unknown as the street.

And at least the street didn't shout.

Where would she go?

Well, Brianna shrugs. Home is no option. Considering when Brianna broke the rules and attempted to befriend Sally, her mother told her with no uncertainty that "rule-breakers can't stay here," Brianna knows her options are limited.

Maybe in reality, they weren't. But reality is subjective.

Brianna empties out her backpack. She re-packs it with underwear, a pair of pants, a shirt, and the money in her piggy bank. Yes, twelve-year-old girls still have piggy banks.

She goes downstairs and pulls out all of the snacks she could never have.

She stuffs the backpack with rice krispy treats and pop tarts and packs of ramen noodles, things her father bought with no intention of eating. And she leaves every container and drawer open.

Brianna is almost out the door when she remembers the notebook. Her story. _Her_ story, nobody else's.

She runs back to her bedroom and hugs the pink diary to her chest. She shoulders her backpack and heads out the door.

…

"I got as far as downtown before I got tired," Brianna tells her cousin. "I was smart enough to stay off the main streets. Police would have found me and brought me home."

"And you didn't come home for another two years, right?"

Brianna nods. Then she's smiling, filled with nostalgia. "You know, maybe that's all I wanted, was to go home."

Sophie deadpans. "Have you _met_ your dad? He would have beaten the chubby out of your cheeks."

"When did _you_ meet my dad?" It's playful, not tart.

"Not since I was three," Sophie admits gravely. "But I remember when you ran away. Your dad totally called my mom. She had to hold the phone away from her ear to avoid going deaf."

Brianna's smile fades. "Yep, that's my pops."

Hearing about her mother's apparent silence sends shivers down Brianna's spine.

The girls go quiet for a moment. And the story continues.

…

The twelve-year-old girl did not sleep that night. She found a warm spot by a dumpster in downtown Celedon and attempted to curl up. Her growling stomach refused. She wished she had brought a jacket.

At hour two in her new bed of concrete and trash, Brianna is considering going home and taking her licks.

At hour one and fifty-eight minutes, she hears the scream. And it sent the terrified little spitfire onto her feet like lightning.

She saw the muggers surround the woman. They were a lot like the recent Cue Balls: muscular, clad in black and leather, and not terribly bright. Rather than close their hand over the screaming woman's mouth, they elected to knock her upside the head. She cracked her skull—even Brianna heard the crack—and stopped moving. Three of the four muggers go for her purse. The fourth turns and sees the little girl.

"Hello there, sweet thing," he says.

Brianna is brave. "If you touch me, I'll scream." She says it just like that.

It gets the other men's attention. They stand and circle her, and dear God, she just about pisses herself. But she won't show it. Children will stand against the rawest evil imaginable, but they'll clear mountains to get away from angry parents.

And besides, she's still a fighter. Brianna doesn't know if she'll go to school again or when she'll even wash her face, but she knows now: she is a fighter.

The first man makes to grab her. He crawls away with scratched-out eyes and non-functional genitalia.

The other four are smarter. They pull back, and almost consider running. It goes south for Brianna when one of them removes a Pokeball from his belt.

They're grown men, after all. It's the prerogative of the adult to teach children lessons.

Brianna has never seen a Pokeball before. Not in real life, anyway. The red and white sphere glows in the dim night and reflects in her hazel eyes.

…And _now_ I can appear.

I am a flash of white light engulfing Brianna's world, sucking her out of this reality and into the world of Legends.

She didn't believe her eyes when they first rested upon me. I am aware of my appearance: a meek pink body with a lengthy tail does not command authority. I floated above her in our isolated white world, and extended a hand.

I introduced myself. I was Mew, a Legendary who had been studying her for some time.

Adorable girl that she was, Brianna babbled her name four different ways before fiddling at her fingers.

…

"He asked me if I would accept his offer," she tells Sophie. Brianna has forgotten all about the food, which is just as well. Sophie has inhaled it faster than a particularly powerful vacuum cleaner. "He knew that I wasn't really in the position to refuse it, but the choice was important. He really stressed that."

Sophie nods. "A Legendary Pokemon showing up and demanding something…And he asks for consent," she laughs. "What an age we live in."

The joke doesn't sit right with her cousin. "You know, you're taking this pretty easily," Brianna says.

"Am I not supposed to believe you?"

"Not this easily." Brianna's voice shrinks. "It's why I didn't tell you about me sooner. You'd call me a liar."

"Welp, that already happened! And really, I'm a fortune teller. The world is a strange place." Sophie runs her finger along the last of the nacho cheese dip. "Come on, get to it. What did Mew say?"

Brianna smirks. There are so few people in the world who could say something so outlandish, and yet have it so casual. Sometimes, the universe does work in our favor. I personally believe every gift comes with an equal and opposite caveat.

For example.

…

I presented three Pokeballs to the girl. Each Pokemon remained in its container, but Brianna could feel each Pokemon inside. This space was the Way Between Worlds, home to Legendaries of our world. A place where only the mighty could command.

Anything was possible if it were willed, and the Pokemon willed themselves to her.

…

"He told me, 'I'm presenting you with a quest,'" Brianna tells her cousin.

…

She's a smart girl. Immediately she asked me, was she to become a Pokemon Trainer?

I told her, not exactly.

…

"'If you choose one of the Pokemon before you and become a Locker, you shoulder the burdens of your time. You swear to help the helpless, to protect the innocent from the unjust, for you will become righteous.'"

"Righteous," Sophie comments, both on the word use and the story.

…

Brianna did not understand at first. She would eventually grasp her relevance to the world. She did not know it, but one word would take her to battles with the menacing Giovanni of Silph Company, would bring her face-to-face with the Elemental Birds—themselves lesser Legendaries—and would bring her glory.

She nodded. "I'll do it," Brianna told me.

I asked of her: "Do you then accept the Challenge?"

Brianna repeated. "I'll do it." And she pointed to the Pokeball directly before her. "And I'll take this one."

…

"I ended up back in the real world," Brianna tells Sophie. "The gang-member-guys had been frozen in time, or something."

"Legendary magic?" Sophie offers. "Definitely probably Legendary magic."

…

The man's Pokeball burst into the open air. It was the first of many, and Brianna found herself surrounded by Zubat, Raticate, and Geodude.

But in her hand, she found the Pokeball she had chosen from me. She cast it into the air, and it broke apart to reveal the Charmander she met in the Way Between Worlds.

Brianna had had no idea. "Sawyer?" She asked him. I remember this clearly. "You're a Charmander? Huh!"

…

"That was mine and Sawyer's first fight," Brianna summarizes. "I ripped those guys apart and had my first Pokemon Trainer paycheck. Something in me told me to find Professor Oak, at Pallet Town…Probably Legendary magic," she jokes. "I went. By the time I registered with the Pokemon League, my parents had stopped looking for me. And here I am."

"Nope!" Sophie wags a finger.

"Nope? What's nope?"

"Nope, as in, you never explained what the Challenge is, or what you are as a Locker, or whatever. You don't look like metal storage to me." Sophie smiles at her own joke.

That was true. Sophie is much brighter than I initially gave her credit for.

"The Lockers…Well, preface?" Brianna holds out a warning hand. "This is just what I learned from that one meeting. And it's not even like I learned it; it's just a bunch of facts that I suddenly knew, but couldn't tell you where or how I did."

Sophie motioned with her hands. "Hurry up. Get to the goods."

The Lockers are those who partake in the legacy of human defenders.

It is the Nuzlocke Challenge.

"There are three rules," Brianna says. She holds up her fingers.

"Hold up! Hold up." Sophie tosses the empty food cartons over her shoulder, then checks for any nearby angry janitors. None in sight; she continues. "There's no law against you telling me this, is there?"

"Law?"

"Yeah, a law! Like, you can't tell anyone or else you can't be a Locker anymore."

Brianna shakes her head. "That's not how it works. I'm like this for the rest of my life. It'd be like changing being a girl, just because I told someone what getting my period is like."

"Kind of gross analogy, but I get you," Sophie says. "Just making sure. This is Legendary stuff. My parents would say you can't be too careful. Suspicious old fortune tellers, and all."

No, Sophie. You certainly can't be too careful.

Rule One. Each Pokemon will reveal their real name, and you must address them as such.

"Sawyer is his real name," Brianna explains after telling Sophie the rule. "When I got to pick a Pokeball, I didn't know what was in each one. Probably a Bulbasaur and a Squirtle, I mean…duh, right?

"But those other Pokemon didn't reach out to me. Sawyer reached out and told me his name. So he was mine."

"Every Pokemon has a name," Sophie nods. "Got it."

Rule Two. A Locker does not choose their Pokemon; they choose you.

"I can only catch the first Pokemon I meet when I go someplace," Brianna elaborates. "I mean, I _could_ catch other ones, but then it's like those other Pokemon and Sawyer. They don't tell me their names. We don't sync in battle, and it's…it's bad. So I have to obey that rule."

"Only Pokemon that talk you can fight with you, huh?" Sophie asks.

Brianna nods, still waiting for her cousin to call the Crazy Police.

"It's a rough rule." Sophie lets the line of reasoning process. "So what happens if you only get crappy Pokemon, like a Weedle and a Grimer, and have to fight someone crazy strong?"

That one question prompts more flashbacks than Sophie could have imagined.

The years spent grinding in forests, battling with her partners until they were strong enough to make up for their birthed weaknesses, return with a vengeance. It flashes back to Brianna and burns through her heart. Every friend she's met stings her nerves.

"Then you become crazy strong, too," Brianna says simply.

Sophie purses her lips. "Whatever," she says. She's not a Trainer. The importance of this rule flies over her head.

Brianna does not mind.

That anyone is hearing her story is more than enough for her.

Sophie jabs a finger into the sky. "Rule three, go!"

..It's that kind of solace that humans take in themselves which makes the Challenge so worthwhile.

See, what Brianna does not know is the power that flows through her every atom so long as she endures the Challenge.

Our energies are linked. Every battle that she has participated in, she has been both alone and with me by her side. Her Pokemon are stronger than others, even when they are not.

Her victories, though technically hers, may as well be ours.

Her defeats are hers alone. Which is what stops her from reciting the third rule. The memory of defeat, from when she lost sight of herself in front of Cassidy and Sally, all the way to the Elite Four.

That is another story.

"Brianna?" Sophie pokes her cousin in the shoulder, rocks her back and forth. "Hullo? Earth to Brianna!"

Brianna shakes her head. "Sorry," she apologizes for nothing. "I just got stuck for a moment. The third rule is…well, it's _the_ rule."

"There they are," Owen Shepard's voice echoes from the stadium entrance. Behind him, Kimmie Gracie Cole grumbles. He replies: "It's not my fault you couldn't finish your pizza faster. You should master swallowing."

Sophie can't let that one slide. It's too good. Kimmie would never recover…

…But Sophie has to ignore it. Brianna was on the verge of bearing the last bit of her soul, and this was not the time. Sophie lets the best insult _ever_ go unused.

"Rule three." Brianna's every word is loaded with grief, weighed down with the repercussions of her decision. "Rule three…Here it is."

Rule three.

Any Pokemon that faints in battle cannot be revived.

Owen and Kimmie start walking toward the cousins. As the words roll from Brianna's tongue, Sophie senses that she's missing something. They're bickering at full-speed now, Owen having completed his innuendo and Kimmie retaliating. Wonder bobs along with them, having taken rein of the stadium after being ignored.

Over their dialogue, Sophie thinks. She starts to put it together.

"Cannot be revived," she repeats. "Like…from Pokemon Centers? Max revives? Nothing?"

Brianna shakes her head. Slowly. Like a broken gear.

"They're permanently fainted," Sophie says. "Like…gone."

Sophie can't say it. Can't say the real word that encompasses what happened to Brianna's fallen companions, what _will_ happen to any companion she lets down. What will eventually happen to all of us, as a matter of fact.

What will happen to the few souls that choose to fight with Brianna. Neither girl can give voice to the fate of the chosen and defeated.

Brianna is a Locker, and Sophie is a Fortune Teller. Both of them have the capacity to understand death. Neither can say its name.

"There you are!" Kimmie puts her hands on her hips and stands over Brianna. Her twintails cause her looming shadow to resemble a Wooper rather than a girl. "We were wondering where you ran off to!"

"Pun intended. Wonder started hanging out by the box office," Owen explains. "We hoped you weren't in any kind of trouble or anything." He picks up on the somber tone. "Is everything okay?"

And when Brianna doesn't speak: "Sofs, is she…Are you guys okay?"

Brianna stares deep into Sophie. Her hazel eyes forge a lifeline, a communication between the two. Begging her cousin, _begging_ to keep this a secret. The cousin she barely knows is suddenly her secret-keeper.

Because even if Sophie puts it together and allows it, allows Brianna's Pokemon to go into the trenches, Owen and Randall and Kimmie would not.

Dear God, something tells Brianna. Casey would _not_.

But accepting this quest is part of her destiny as a Locker. She must help the helpless, and if she could change it, she would have done so. But Brianna is powerless. She has to face this alone.

So please, she begs Sophie.

As she prepares to send her Pokemon to the grave, please…Keep my secret.

Sophie channels her cousin.

She flashes her eyes, and she lies. Only for now, but she lies all the same.

"Everything's fine," she says to Owen. Then: "Ready to go home, boss?"

* * *

This might be the last chapter for a few more days. I've hit a heinous writers' block, mostly due to grad school finals. HNNG.

At any rate, I put a lot into this chapter. Let me know what you think!


	6. Casey II

The Summer of Two Island

…

Chapter 6 – Casey II

"Not bad, my young apprentice. Perhaps one day you, too, can carry on the fine Blevins dynasty."

Casey's lip curls. "I'm not related to you," he's grateful to say.

"No, not by blood." Randall puts his feet on the kitchen counter. He remembered to take his boots off, luckily for him. "But you've spent a day repairing the fence. That makes you a Blevins Man, in the ranks of myself and my father and his…mother, come to think of it." He grimaces.

Quick, Casey. Deflect it, before you, too, spend your days hounding girls with blond twintails! "Technically, Owen was a Blevins Man before me, then…And wait, wouldn't that make him a Blevins Man before you, too?"

Randall stares into his bottle. The words sink into some shallow understanding and quickly pass by. He hates to let Casey win arguments—Randall's mother never let him win arguments, and her father started the tradition some fifty years ago—but he doesn't have the brain power to banter. He does the next best thing to establish dominance.

"Grab me another drink?" Randall asks. When Casey goes to the fridge, he reports back solemly: "That was the last one. I think Sophie's party drained your supply."

Randall rolls his eyes. His attempt to establish dominance over the up-and-coming next generation, in smoke. Figures.

The door bursts open. The summer heat and roadside dust sweeps into the living room. Casey shrugs; either nobody will notice and he'll have to clean it up, or somebody _will_ notice and _make_ him clean it up. Such is life.

"Ta-daa!" Kimmie bellows. Casey fights to hide a grimace. Who actually says 'ta-daa'? "I present to you all, the Champion of Two Island! I, Kimmie Gracie Cole, am your savior!"

"You're going to save us?" Asks a not-entirely-sober Randall. "Funny, you don't look like money."

"That is an insult to my perfect wardrobe and outstanding make-up application, but I'll let it slide." Kimmie throws herself onto the couch. Her legs dangle over the headboard. "Pass me something drinkable, Case-face. I'm in the mood for celebration."

What were they celebrating for? If Casey celebrated every time he _signed-up_ to do something, he'd never end up doing anything. He opens the fridge. "Bad news. You guys drained all of your booze with that party."

"You're _kidding_."

"Kimmie, darling, you sound like you've been told your dog is dead."

"This is a big deal!" She whips out the sparkling sticker sheet with her badge attached. It hits the window glare and blinds Casey entirely. "Look at this! They even got my name right! All three words, and let me tell you, they almost forgot one."

"What, you were almost Gracie Cole?" Randall smirks. Though before Kimmie can round on him: "We're not out of beer, by the way. Case-face, there're probably some rations left in the nursery."

Casey clicks his tongue. "You used the nursery as a backup distillery?"

"It's not a _distillery_. We don't _brew_ the stuff. It just sits there, waiting to be appreciated."

"So, you used the nursery as _storage space_. Much better."

Randall waves a hand away. "Just get the stuff, will you?" And when Casey doesn't budge right away: "Please?"

As I've informed you, it's rare for Casey to see a genuine 'please'. The entire time he helped Randall to fix the log fence, it was a parade of 'do this' and 'what are you, stupid?' If not for Kimmie's rambunctious presence, Casey would have been _tossed_ outside, in the general direction of the nursery.

Being grateful to Kimmie Gracie Cole. Ugh, he thinks. That's life right there. He starts for the back porch and stops when the front door breeze hits him.

"What's the door still open for?" He asks.

"Huh?" Kimmie perks her head up. "Oh, that. Intern-Girl and Pokemon-Trainer-Girl are talking about something with Owen. They were all frowny-faces on the way back. Thank the eighties for outstanding awkward-silence-killing music."

Casey watches the pink Bug outside. Owen sits on the dirt road and faces an open door. Sophie's on the other side of Brianna, and they're all wrapped up in something serious. Casey knows it's not his problem. It's _never_ his problem. He just lives here.

Still, though. Brianna's confident smile is gone. He doesn't like that. Or rather…it didn't feel right.

"Case-face!" Kimmie snaps. "Booze! Go!"

Casey jumps back into reality. He doesn't grumble and sigh loudly as is the nagged teenager prerogative. He turns on his heel and is out the door, crossing the back yard and going to the nursery.

The joke's on them if they think he'll be back right away. Casey hasn't spoken with his friends in quite a while.

He swings the nursery door open. It's well past noon and the sun has begun to set. The Jynx and Oddish consider the end of sunlight to be the end of the day. When Casey finds them, they've already curled up to the corner of the playpen and snuggled into one another. He finds it adorable. A grin stretches from ear to ear. He hates that Randall has the gall to use the nursery as a fridge. But the sight of happy Pokemon is morphine to his nerves.

The door slides behind him, quietly. Casey scans the dim room for crates of alcohol. He finds them in the corner of the playpen.

"Of course," he complains to empty space. He violates the only real rule of the nursery—considering Randall's actions, maybe the only personal rule—and invades the tykes' space. One foot inside the short metal fence, then another. Casey closes the empty space and takes a crate. He's about to turn around when he feels a gentle shock at his ankle.

He laughs, and then he's yelling. "Ow! A thundershock to the ankle! It's super effective!" He puts the case down and turns. "Who would dare attack innocent ole' me?

"Of course, I knew it! Only Mareep could be this cruel!"

He kneels in front of the two Mareep and meets their smiles with his own. He scratches behind their pointed ears. Their wool lights up in a dull yellow, and their tails rise ever so slightly.

One of the Mareep purrs at him. He knows exactly which Mareep the sound comes from.

He knows both of them by name, in fact.

"It's fine, Jacob," he says. "I know, this is your space. I didn't mean to intrude."

The Mareep called Jacob makes another sound, this one harsher and more controlled than the first. This isn't the first time Casey's been chewed out for breaking various rules, and definitely not the first time Jacob's been the out-chewer. This Mareep was a hard-ass.

"It's not my fault!" Casey explains. "Randall put these boxes in your playpen when they didn't belong. I've got to bring them out. I would never put anything in your space, Jake. You know that." He scratches the wool atop Jacob's head and repeats, "You know that."

Jacob backs down. He makes a final sound, and Casey stands up with the crate.

"I know, pal," Casey concedes. "Won't happen again. Promise."

"What won't happen again?"

Casey jumps out of his skin. The crate nearly tumbles from his arms, and when he narrowly catches it, Casey slams his foot into the wall. He's biting his lip to keep from screaming. One does not simply invade Jacob's space and then wake up the other tykes.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!"

"It's fine," Casey winces at Brianna. She bunches her fists and swings her arms. Looking for something to do. He contemplates giving her the crate, but figures that would be rude. "I'm just getting something for Randall."

Before she can reply, Casey raises a finger to his lips. He nudges his head toward the dozing tykes, and Brianna gets the message. She backtracks to the door and slides out of the narrow opening. Casey follows, and when he gets to the door, Brianna pulls it open carefully. Then she slides it back into place, and she and Casey stand in the backyard with a case of light beer between them.

"Thanks for getting the door," Casey tells her, careful not to be suckered into her hazel stare. Then: "What are you smiling at?"

"I never pegged you for an alcoholic, is all." She points to the box.

"Oh! This. It's not mine. I'm getting it for Randall."

"You're holding it for a friend. Right."

"I'm getting it for Randall and Kimmie, because they're a pair of lazy bums and I'm a freeloader with no leverage." And when he realizes he said too much, he smiles. "Cut me some slack, sheesh."

The conversation dies.

Which has never happened.

Casey chides himself: Brianna has been with them for a total of _maybe_ twenty-four hours, and he's known her for _maybe_ twelve. But they've had two conversations since then, discussing raising Pokemon and the philosophical meaning of home. They didn't just have dead space. Brianna wasn't the kind of girl to go quiet.

He remembered how she looked in the back seat of Kimmie Bug moments ago. The lights behind her eyes were out…just like now, in fact. Something was wrong.

Bless Casey's heart. He knew the girl a fraction of the time I had, but already knew her.

"I'm going to put this down," he nodded to the box. "Wait for me?"

Brianna furrows her brow. "What for? Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," Casey says honestly. He's seen this trick: when Sophie plans to ask somebody else about their problems, she reels them in by pretending she herself has drama. Works every time. "Just…wait for me?"

"Sure," Brianna agrees. It's not even a question.

He's careful not to run to the back porch. When the door slams behind him, Sophie is waiting. Arms folded, Wonder bobbing on her head.

"That's a peculiar hat," Casey points. He recognizes the snarl on Sophie's taut lips. "What did I do to offend, madam?"

"Stop hanging around Randall. His douchey-ness is rubbing off on you."

"I only aim to please," Casey sings. He sets the crate down. "I brought the booze," he hollers through the house. Kimmie and Randall are a cacophony of feet racing down the hallway. Casey is going back outside long before Sophie can stop him.

He's not blind; Casey knows there's something eating the Friendly Neighborhood Intern. If he hadn't already prepared himself to hear one person's angst, he would have definitely stopped and heard Sophie's.

"Hey! Don't tread on me!" Brianna says when Casey barrels out and nearly tumbles into her. She's sitting on the top step. Casey sits beside her, and rather than say anything, he simply smiles.

There's a disappointing silence. He finally speaks. "You're not going to ask what I'm laughing at?"

Brianna removes her hat, then shakes her head out. The locks fall in what had to be a practiced sequence. "I'm kind of in a mood. Sorry."

"Why do you do that?"

"Why do I what? Have moods?"

"Why do you apologize all the time?"

"_I_ don't think I apologize all the time."

"You do. Believe me, you do." Casey leans back on his forearms. "You've been here for barely a day, and there have been more apologies thrown around here than in the last year."

Brianna shrugs. "I'm considerate, I suppose." Then: "No, I mean it. Don't laugh at me."

"I don't doubt that you mean it. I just disagree with that idea."

He can tell, he's hitting a nerve. Brianna's eyes harden. "You disagree with being considerate? That's a sad way to go through life, Casey."

This was the second time he'd struck out in half as many days. Why were girls so difficult?

"That's not what I meant," Casey says. "I didn't mean it like that. I disagree with you….meaning what you said."

"That doesn't sound any better," she snaps.

"I know." Casey braces for impact. "That's why I tried backing out of saying it."

Brianna knows the strange boy has a point, but for the life of her, she can't figure what it is. "You know that people don't say what they don't mean, right?"

Casey shakes his head once, then again and _fast_, like he's whipping water from his hair. "Let's start this over again." He holds his hand out. "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Casey."

There are two kinds of girls. The kind that would go with this gesture, and the kind that would kick Casey when he was down. Brianna is _almost_ the second. Which would be quite ironic, wouldn't it? To not let someone help she who helps the helpless?

Brianna shakes his hand. "I'm Brianna," she says.

"Hello, Brianna. I think that your constant apologies are definitely considerate, but that you apologize for things that aren't your fault."

She tries to counter. "I'm human. I make mistakes like everybody else—"

"Well, sure. Nobody else apologizes for their mistakes, though." He laughs, then: "Hell, if anything, Kimmie would probably get in your face for bugging her post-wrong-doing."

Casey grimaces. He knows what she'll say before she's saying it: "I'm not Kimmie, though."

And before he can parry the offensive, Brianna goes all-out. "People in the world don't want to apologize for their mistakes, and that's fine. I want to be the person to change that. I _am_ a person who changes a lot of things, but if I could only change one, that would be it."

Casey nods. "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Then he's popping his lips. "Is it just me, or do our conversations always become brooding and depressing?"

"I don't find them depressing," Brianna shrugs. A smile finally shines through her fog. "You're easy to talk to."

"I have _not _been told that before," Casey muses sheepishly. "In case you didn't notice, I have a habit of running away from social situations."

"Like parties?"

"Exactly like parties," he agrees. "They irk me. That's exactly the word to describe it: they are irksome, Brianna."

"Well, I'll say it differently. I don't have to re-introduce myself to you first, do I?"

Casey shakes his head.

"Good. I don't really like meeting new people."

"I noticed. Parties seem to irk you a bit. Not that it's a familiar sentiment or anything." Casey holds his hands up defensively.

Brianna rolls her eyes. "What I meant to say was, I think you're deeper than most people. I know for a _fact_ you're more understanding of things. I remember asking Erika what she thought of home, and she tried to introduce me to Feng Shui."

For reference, Erika was the fourth Gym Leader of Kanto, and the Leader of Brianna's hometown. Casey's not sure to ask for clarification on Erika or Feng Shui. He ultimately asks nothing. "I'll take a compliment where I can get it," he says.

A lightbulb flashes over Casey's head. Not literally. It's a metaphor.

"You're fighting in the Sevii Cup tomorrow, right?" Casey asks.

"Who told you?"

"I just assumed. You're a Pokemon Trainer…that's why you're on the Island, right?"

She mulls over a response. "It's one of the reasons," she finally admits. One of a growing number.

"You haven't been to a Pokemon Center in a while, have you?" And when she shakes her head: "I thought so. Here's an idea: you mind if I get your crew in fighting shape?"

Brianna flinches the way a child would when a parent takes her doll.

"I'm not going to do anything menacing," Casey promises. "This isn't reality television. I'm not going to poison them and sabotage your quest or something dumb. Just…not to toot my own horn, but I'm good with Pokemon. They're related to my current employment."

That aloof smile colors his face again. Brianna pulls her shirt just above her waist. Like clockwork, her Pokeballs rest on a chain at her belt loops. Only two Pokeballs. Casey doesn't question it. She only has a backpack and the clothes she's wearing; she travels light.

Before she throws the Pokeballs into the air, Brianna bites her lip. "Be gentle. They're my family."

"Scout's honor."

She's certain Casey is not, never was and never will be a Boy Scout, but doesn't mind. She throws both Pokeballs into the wide expanse of green lawn, where they explode in white starbursts. When the light clears, two Pokemon stand in the clear space.

"Guys, this is Casey," Brianna says and gestures. "Casey, these are the guys. Gabby and Dawson."

Casey is already off of the porch and kneeling beside the Raticate. "Nice to meet you, Dawson. I swear I'm not going to poison you for your match tomorrow." And another grin.

"Huh. How'd you know which was which?" Brianna asks.

"Lucky guess. I had a fifty-fifty shot," Casey covers. Alternate answers included _I can talk to Pokemon, but it's a low-key thing_ and _I didn't. (Pose.) _

He turns attention back to Brianna's team, jumping to his feet and stroking Gabby's coral mane. She's the first Fearow Casey has seen up-close, and he expected her to be smaller. "They're both sweethearts," Casey comments. Though when Dawson snorts, he corrects himself. "I'd hate to have to fight them, though. I like my face how it is." Gabby extends her wings and chirps approvingly.

I see the discomfort in Brianna long before Casey does. He is looking over Pokemon, after all. Examining the sharpness in Gabby's talons, the pace of Dawson's constant bouncing, failing to disguise awe at their overflowing confidence. Even for a moment, Brianna is not in his thoughts. Her folded hands, her crossed legs and her shaky breathing are not on the radar.

She's waiting for the question. Where are her other Pokemon?

Where is Sawyer?

Hell, she was surprised Sophie didn't ask it herself. If Brianna were serious about saving the ranch, why was she keeping her strongest Pokemon in a box somewhere?

…For one thing, he was not in a _box_. For another, that's nobody's business but her own. Telling Kimmie, Owen, or even Sophie something harsh would be uncomfortable, but it had to be done. She made a promise, and she would not break it. Not even to help the helpless.

When Casey finally does regard Brianna again, his question is nothing she expects. "What did you feed these two? Radioactive protein and dynamite?"

She's laughing again.

"No, I'm serious. Dawson here is about 110% muscle, and I think Gabby could make an airplane look slow. And fat."

"Thanks, but you don't have to lie," Brianna says. "We work hard, like anybody else."

Casey cringes the entire time she's saying it. He claps his hands to silence her, then holds them to his side. "Actors, ready?"

"What are you doing..?"

"Scene four: 'Casey gives the girl a compliment, and she takes it.' And…action!" He claps his hands, then: "What did you feed these two? Radioactive protein and dynamite?...Stop laughing, I mean it. You're screwing up your lines."

Brianna can't help it. She hasn't laughed at anything in a long time. Laughter is like anything else: if you don't do it for a long time, then when you finally do, it's an all-consuming sensation. She feels it in her fingertips, her eyelids and her toes. All of the fear that intoxicated her on the ride home, all of the doubt that it took both Sophie and Owen to mediate vanished. (Sophie made sure to keep her cousin's secret a secret. Owen was confused, to say the least.) Even better, her Pokemon were happy. Gabby began to hover an inch off the ground, stretching her wings for the sake of doing so, and Dawson ran laps in the free space. Neither had done that since Victory Road, almost a lifetime ago.

So many lifetimes ago.

She wipes tears away. Casey pulls at his collar. "It seems I killed her, boss. What, was it something I said?'

"Casey, you're just silly," Brianna manages. "Really silly."

"I know. How else do you think I live with these nutjobs?" Rhetorical answer include _with bucketloads of self-loathing _and _I don't. (Pose.) _"Anyway, your guys are ready for battle. Though I'm pretty sure you didn't need me to tell you that. Just give them a night's rest outside their Pokeballs, and tomorrow will be a slaughter."

Oh, how Casey should have used a different word.

But even that carefree carelessness endears him. Sophie called Brianna a liar, Kimmie sees her as competition. Randall Blevins hasn't bothered to even introduce himself. Owen Shepard shook her hand and asked her to catch a fist minutes later.

And then there was Casey.

"You're going tomorrow, right?" She asks.

"To the Sevii Cup? Probably not. It's just the starting matches. The semi-finals are at the end of the day, so the day after next is when all the hubbub starts." He slouches. "I'll be you a dollar Randall will have me moving booze."

There is something to be said for adolescence on the road. One cannot fear boys when there aren't any around to fear. Especially not when they do appear, and they're aloof amateur comedians. All the same, Brianna feels a tug in her chest.

"Could you?" She asks. "Come tomorrow. To the matches."

This time, Casey is firm. "I'll be busy. Randall—"

The magic word: "Please?" She wants to tell him he'll take the edge off. He'll push Dawson and Gabby's mortality out of her mind. He'll have her smiling, even when she shouldn't be. Just like he was right at this moment.

She's smiling, and she's asking please. It's not enough to convince most people. It wasn't enough to convince her parents to let Sally Mendelson be her friend.

Casey is not her parents.

"I'll be there," he beams. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

…

It took more than a 'please' and a smile to get Casey out of his chores the next day. In fact, it took more than Randall's cases of beer, heavy lifting and surrender of leftovers at dinnertime for Randall to submit. The argument turned into a full-on standoff and Casey did not budge. That's something I liked about Casey. When the truth is in his corner, he shows no quarter. When drunken, slobbering threats to throw the boy out came into the fray, Sophie got involved.

"It's not like I _want_ to skip out on cleaning out the tykes' bathroom," Casey said. "Brianna asked me to come."

He didn't know why, but Sophie immediately jumped to Casey's defense. She shoved a finger into Randall's lame chest and pointed with apocalyptic force.

"Listen up, Blevins," she started. "You _will_ let Casey go to the Cup tomorrow morning, _and_ to the final matches after that. And if you _think_ you're throwing him out, you're an animal and you should be _ashamed_."

Sober Randall probably would have quipped back. For that matter, Sober Kimmie would have seen that as cause to elevate their relationship from Cold-War status to World-War. Drunk Kimmie was currently sprawled in the back seat of her Bug ("I'm going home!"), and Drunk Randall could not face Shepard's Intern on his own. He relented on the condition that Casey consider it vacation and take it out of the vacation hours he never actually saw.

A victory was a victory was a victory.

"If you ask me, I'm glad you're here," Kimmie says as they turn onto the main road.

Sophie smirks in the back seat. "Nobody asked you," she says politely.

"God," Kimmie sighs out the window. She drains her second water bottle in twenty minutes. "Water is the stuff of legends."

I appreciate the compliment.

"It's not that great. You're just hungover," Sophie points out.

"I am _not_. Hair of the dog, Intern."

"Hair of the dog. Is that what we're calling your hair style these days?"

"No, the dog is a metaphor. It's symbolic. Maybe if you could _actually_ tell fortunes, you'd know what a symbol is."

"How's this for symbolic?"

Owen Shepard finishes the battle before it starts. "Slow down. We're here. Save the moxie for your opponents, Two Island Champion." The title curbs Kimmie's temper just enough.

They slow down. Other drivers slam on their horns. "Joy, we seem to be in a traffic jam with the other seven cars on this island…Hey, fifteen bucks for parking," Kimmie reads the empty lot's sign. She holds an expectant hand out to her passengers.

No money touches her palm. Kimmie cranes her head and finds Owen's eyebrow cocked. "God, I said we're here, not that we're _parking_ here. Keep driving," Owen says.

The entire ride, Casey demonstrates the common sense to keep quiet. Sophie insisted on sitting beside Brianna on the ride, and Owen needed to sit beside Sophie to keep her from coming to blows. Between Wonder sitting in her lap and Owen and Brianna crammed beside her, the likelihood of Sophie getting to throw a punch was fortunately low. Unfortunately, it meant Casey needed to sit up front.

He and Kimmie had never had a normal conversation. This was not necessarily either of their faults. Sophie and Owen developed their own banter with him, and Randall had been with Casey most of his life. Kimmie Gracie Cole came out of nowhere and latched onto the banter without any kind of introduction. It's one thing to be made fun of and bossed around by people that care about you, and it's another to be treated that way by strangers. If Kimmie meant to seem funny and eccentric, she failed miserably. In fact, what were the opposites of those traits? Unfunny and abrasive?

Casey rolls down the window and nods into the wind. Unfunny and abrasive: Kimmie to a T.

Kimmie dashes the suggestion to park four blocks down and walk in the heat. "You guys owe me for this," she says as she pays the fifteen dollars. Casey is grateful, but he wouldn't be caught dead thanking Kimmie. Neither would Sophie, or Owen, and Brianna seemed oddly tight-lipped.

The walk from the parking lot to the stadium is both quiet and cacophonous. None of the Two Island residents, nor the two representing Pokemon Trainers, said a word. Casey wondered if he could do one of those good-natured talk-to-nobody routines that worked so well with the tykes. As long as you're funny, you can break anyone out of solitude.

But Casey could read a situation better than most humans. He watched his four friends (acquaintainces?) walk along the crowded sidewalk and saw: everyone was lost in their own worlds. Owen worried over paying his debts; Sophie and Wonder should have been fortune-telling at this moment; Kimmie and Brianna had battles in their very-immediate future. Not all silences are awkward.

"This is where we part ways," Kimmie says when the crowd slowed into a line. Casey's eyes follows the line up to the box office just outside the entrance. A slow trickle of young people walks directly inside, unaccompanied. Trainers, stoic and controlled from a lifetime of combat. Kimmie continues: "All combatants are to meet inside the stadium for briefing. Teams of up to three Pokemon get registered for that fancy display thing."

"Fancy display thing. You mean the score board?" Sophie suggested.

"That's the board that shows HP and moves and stuff, right?"

"It's the _only_ board."

"Then _duh_, it's that one." And before Sophie can return fire: "What are you, _stupid?_"She turns on her heels and starts off for the stadium entrance. A loose wave of the hand accompanies the left-right bob of her twintailed head.

Casey's waiting for Sophie to issue death threats, and if Owen's silence was any consideration, so was he.

Imagine Casey's surprise when Sophie and Brianna are holding hands, both as quiet as ghosts.

Brianna's gaze is firmly planted at the ground. Sophie squeezes the girl's hand. "I'm here," Sophie says gently, more gentle than Casey has ever heard from her. "I'm here, and you don't have to go through with this."

Go through with what? Casey wonders.

"I'll be fine," Brianna says with a breaking voice.

This isn't good, Casey thinks. Whatever is eating at Brianna, it'll distract her from her matches. Wasn't he here specifically to keep Brianna ready for action?

In one swift move, Casey is on his knees and under her stare. Her white hat blocks out the horrific sunlight, and all Casey can see is the sad hazel that was Brianna.

What do you do when words won't work? Flash the thumbs-up, of course!

"You've got this." Casey smiles wide. "Gabby and Dawson could rock this blindfolded."

She whispers. Sophie and Owen don't hear it. It's just as well. Brianna asks the only person in the world at that moment: "Do you really mean that?"

"I don't say things I don't mean. And that even includes apologies."

Brianna nods.

It's not the usual Brianna Nod, either. It's not one in a series, it's not one lonely reaction from an-otherwise distant teenage girl, and it's definitely not a simple affirmation. She nods her head so hard, the hat dislodges. Chestnut curls fall around her and block out the sun entirely. The only light rests in Brianna, and her tears dim even that.

She squeezes Sophie's hand as hard as her tendons allow. The other hand reaches for Casey's shoulder.

Casey stands up slowly, not daring to break from her. The white cap fits snug onto her head once again, and—deep breath, don't screw it up!—he brushes a tear from her porcelain cheek.

It's so soft, Casey forgets what to say.

Lucky for him, right?

Brianna breaks away. She's a blur of white confidence and chestnut courage, darting past the careless audience. And once she's flashed her ID to the semiconscious guards, she's behind the stadium walls and ready for battle.

Sophie doesn't realize her jaw is hanging until Wonder reaches from his perch and snaps it shut.

"Casey?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you _do_ that?"

He asks honestly: "Do what?"

* * *

So we progress into the second third of the story! Thanks for sticking around. Review and let me know what you think!


	7. Kimmie II

The Summer of Two Island

…

Chapter 7 – Kimmie II

Swellow, Hariyama, and Blaziken.

It's no question. There's not a doubt in her mind. Put a gun to Kimmie Gracie Cole's head and she will recite from the bottom of her soul: Swellow, Hariyama, and Blaziken. It's the battle strategy that's worked for the last year of her unstoppable fighting world. You don't fix what isn't broken, and you don't switch the order of your Pokemon when it wrecks every single opponent.

It's simple. Swellow, the iconic cobalt bird Pokemon of Hoenn, sweeps the flotsam. Wipes out lesser Pokemon before their feet hit the ground. It takes more than level grinding and fancy hold items to even have a fighting chance. Hell, it had taken type advantages, paralysis, EV-training for abnormal speed, and even _then_ Swellow only lost because Kimmie forgot to bring another Full Restore. Kimmie's fault; Swellow was unstoppable.

"Swellow, Level 46," the nurse drones. She places the Pokeball into the scanner beside the PC. The hardware blinks to life, and in the next moment, the Hoenn warrior's stats display on the screen. Another board. There were two boards, and Sophie was _wrong_. As was expected.

The process might have wracked every nerve in Kimmie's body…if this were five, six years ago.

Being asked into a large room with the other thirty-ish participants, and then being called into a smaller room where her Pokemon were examined and registered, seemed daunting…the first time around. Other people sat in her chair and shook with stage fright. Kimmie turned the chair around, sat with her legs open, and rested her head on the back.

Next ball into the machine. "Hariyama, Level 51."

Kimmie grins.

Oh, Hariyama. Harry the Tank. Harry the Wall of Despair. She knew Hariyama was a keeper when, in that match in Mauville City where she was ready to pack up, leave Wattson's gym and return home, the Tank would not go down. Refused to, point-blank. Nothing gets past Hariyama, not fear and certainly not enemy attacks.

That said.

Suppose pigs flew, hell froze over and she woke up tomorrow missing her family. Suppose Swellow and Hariyama went down for the count.

"Blaziken, Level 55."

The nurse's stone façade breaks for a moment. Just enough for a smile to appear in the corner of her mouth. That was just as well: Blaziken had once delivered a Sky Uppercut so powerful, it both one-hit KO'd the enemy, and it shell-shocked the Trainer. Ace Trainer Robert was never seen on the battlefield again.

Kimmie collects her Pokeballs and went back to the waiting room. She finds Brianna toward the back of the dim auditorium. The brim of her hat had been pulled down as far as possible. She was antisocial incarnate: her entire row was devoid of life. Not that life absence had stopped Kimmie from doing things before.

"Nothin' to it," Kimmie says. She throws herself into a chair, props her legs up in the adjacent seat, and scans the crowd. "How many more bimbos are left again?"

"They said they're almost done with registration," Brianna answers. She tries to keep quiet again, but Kimmie jabs her in the shoulder. "What was that for?"

"I'm sick. I have the Eye of the Tiger, and I just infected you with it. You're welcome." Kimmie beams. It's not a Casey smile, and it's not a Sophie Hand Squeeze, but it's genuine. That's what matters.

…

You're probably wondering why Kimmie is being buddy-buddy with Brianna.

Well.

Previously on the Sophie Versus Kimmie Show.

Sophie is a smart girl. She's smart enough to move out on her own, and smart enough to understand the gravity behind the Challenge. But she was also compassionate, which is so often the downfall of smart people.

She couldn't help Brianna win. Not directly. There was only one person who could stand beside Brianna as she fought on their behalf. That person lay on Owen's couch, feet propped up and pretty blond head tossed back on the armrest.

Sophie and Owen decided to wait until the other house residents were asleep. They would ask Kimmie politely for a favor. Sophie and Owen decided to tell their Champion, midway between her sober and dead-drunk points to minimize outbursts, that Brianna was also fighting for the ranch. That she was another Two Island Ranch Champion.

There was an algorithm to this approach. Sober Kimmie would feel offended that they brought another Trainer into the mix; Drunk Kimmie wouldn't remember it by morning. Tipsy Kimmie was the best bet.

It had started off rough.

As in: "What are you, Shepard, _high_? I'm Kimmie Gracie Cole. I win these things in my sleep. I don't need her help."

"It wasn't Owen's decision, it was hers." Sophie sat on the table in front of the sprawled-out, intoxicated Pokemon Mercenary. "Brianna wants to do this, and we can't stop her."

"So what do you want _me_ to do? Knock her out early? Because _that_ I can do."

Owen rubbed his temples. Deep breaths. "The opposite, Kimmie. We'd like you to help her along."

"_Ha!_ Help her along? She's the competition."

"You're both competing for the same purpose," Sophie explained, straining to keep her tone civil. "Brianna is doing things a little differently. I mean…look.

"I don't like you and you don't like me."

And here, things go south.

Kimmie reached for her drink. "What tipped you off?"

"The thing is, Brianna's…She…" Sophie went silent.

"She _what_, Intern?"

"Brianna's important."

"Oh, yeah. Right. Brianna's important." Kimmie jabbed a finger at Owen. "Let me put that in layman's terms. Since you both consider me a layman."

Owen stepped. "That's not true, Kimmie."

"Yeah, it is, Shepard, but whatever. I'm over it. Brianna!" Then, in her drunken slur: "Bri-awnuh took a punch for you, and you owe her. So she's _special_, and she gets the glory."

"Glory?" Sophie's laugh was starved for humor. "On Two Island?"

The logic went unnoticed. Kimmie was in her own fantasy. "Special Trainer Bri-awnuh gets the credit for saving this lame old Ranch…How'd you convince her to give you the prize money, even? Because there's no _way_ your selfish asses would let anyone else take it."

Sophie wanted to push further, but it wouldn't have done any good. Owen knews it. All they would do by pushing her is have their so-called Champion say something she didn't mean.

"We should settle this in the morning," Owen offered.

It was an instant backfire, of course.

"Right," Kimmie slurred. "The _morning_, when special Bri-awnuh will have her beauty sleep so she can win the tournament. The one I'm helping her win. God, maybe if _I_ try and get in Casey's pants, you guys would think _I_ fart rainbows, too—"

Insult Casey? Line: crossed. Sophie is on her feet.

"Casey has _nothing_ to do with this, you drunken, illiterate, cheap skank."

Thank Arceus that my laughter went unheard!

Owen moved to hold her back. "Sofs—"

"_No_, Owen. _No._" Then, back at a stunned and mildly-amused Kimmie: "You know what? Fine. Do what you want. I reached out to you. I did my part. I went so far out of my mind as to assume you were a decent human being. So maybe if I asked you for a favor, you'd cut me some slack. You come into _my_ home—because unlike you, I _live here_—and parade your drunk ass at Owen's boss, and God help me, I let you do it. You make us look like a damn boarding house for expatriate degenerates, and I _let you do it_."

"Those are big words," Kimmie laughed.

"But mark my words, Kimmie Gracie Cole. Don't you set foot in this house again. Come back in here and you won't be coming out."

"You don't mean that," Kimmie says. She says it quickly, too. Then, looking past Sophie: "Owen, she doesn't mean that."

…For future reference, one of Sophie's greatest peeves?

Chris had a habit of talking around her. Ignoring Sophie, pretending she wasn't there and talking about her anyway. It got on her very last nerve.

Sophie couldn't grab Chris by his fat collar, pull him to his ham legs and demand to be given attention. You don't attack family.

Kimmie was _not_ family.

It was too fast for Owen to stop: Sophie flipped the short table, caught hold of Kimmie by the collar of her pretty little top, and pulled her hard enough to knock her into sobriety.

"Oh, are we finally doing this?" Kimmie asked. "You're gonna hit me?"

"You'd like that."

"An excuse to beat the tar out of you? Yes, I would."

Sophie saw through the white-hot rage. There were bigger problems.

Bigger secrets that had to come out.

"She's my _cousin_, okay?" The words leave Sophie as a sheltered whisper. Then, relief. "There, I said it. It's in the open.

"Brianna is my cousin." And then Sophie let Kimmie go.

Owen didn't react right away. He never reacted to things right away. Kimmie, on the other hand…Her hand flew to cover her open mouth. She stifled a few heaving laughs.

"That explains this whole deal." Kimmie waved a finger around the room. "This entire show…You're just playing favorites."

"Yes." There was no hesitation. Sophie struggled to breathe against the adrenaline. "Yes, I am. And I'm asking you—which will never happen again—to be Brianna's friend."

Funny enough: I think Kimmie wanted to do that anyway.

Personally, I think Kimmie wanted to be that girl's friend the moment she opened her heart to a boy that morning. Anyone who can travel the world and still fall in love deserves Kimmie's friendship, in her view.

Though thanks to what humans understandably call "girl drama", conceding now meant a win in Sophie's book. Kimmie would not have that.

I'll say it again: I very much like Owen Shepard. "If you do this, you'll still keep the title," he clarified. "_And_ you'll keep half of my paycheck for the next year."

Kimmie rolled her eyes. "Well, if I couldn't see how desperate you were before…"

Owen wisely remained silent. He let Kimmie savor the feel of the ball in her court. Enjoy having both the Ranch and Owen by the balls. Enjoy that taste of power, enjoy being noticed…And then let it go.

"Keep your money," Kimmie sighed. "I'll do it."

…

…And after all that, here Kimmie was. Happily beside Pokemon Trainer Brianna, judging the competition.

They watched the last handful of Trainers to go the scanning room. Not a word passed between them. Kimmie knew herself: nothing she wanted to know was necessarily polite. _What's the deal with you and Case-face?_ was a topic to be avoided. Girl 101: don't bring up boy drama right away.

Then the other looming question: _where's your third Pokemon? _Two red and white spheres hung at Brianna's belt chain, but the standard was three. If it was one of those two-to-enter-three-maximum deals, then Brianna put herself at a heinous disadvantage.

And finally, the nuclear question. _What's it like being related to crackpot fortune tellers? _

That one in particular would do some damage. Kimmie was no stranger to reading between the lines. Brianna and Sophie's familial ties were a need-to-know basis, and Kimmie was never supposed to be involved. Kimmie could bring it up now, damage scumbag Sophie's family and finally settle their little tryst…But that would be immature.

So Kimmie and Brianna sit in silence. It was better than the alternatives.

The final Trainers leave the scanning room. The announcer's voice is depressingly monotone. "All Trainers, please turn your attentions to the front score board."

_Three score boards!_

Kimmie and Brianna look around the large room for anything resembling a score board. Imagine their surprise when the entire front wall illuminated. The digital display reveals the order of battles, with the familiar divisions and lines showing who would battle whom.

"What's that sound?" Brianna asks. It wasn't quite a gust of wind, and it wasn't quite a growl.

"The audience upstairs," Kimmie says simply. "Oh, hey. Check me out, round one."

The announcer chimes in response: "Contestants 42 and 18 please report to the stadium floor."

"I'm up!" Kimmie bounces to her feet. "Wish me luck, Bri-awnuh."

…

"Round One begins! Pokemon Mercenary Kimmie Gracie Cole versus Cooltrainer Ronald!"

Kimmie groans. She thought this was supposed to be a high-profile deal. Cooltrainers? _Really?_ Ronald's blue hair and popped collar belonged back at his State College. Ugh…boys.

"Begin!"

Pokeballs broke apart in the center of the arena. Ronald's Rapidash landed on all fours and won the audience with its glistening fiery mane. The thing was a flaming unicorn. It would have to _try _to be unlikable.

Rapidash waited in the arena, stoic. It had the patience CoolAmateur Ronald desperately lacked. "Where's your Pokemon, pigtails?"

Kimmie wasn't even mad. She held up two fingers.

"One? They're technically 'twintails', not 'pigtails'. Two?

"Swellow, Aerial Ace him."

The blue blur sliced through the air. There was no battle. In one moment Rapidash stood gallant and ready…in the next, it was down and out.

Kimmie smiled. Ronald just about messed himself. "F-Forget this! I'm done."

Cue the announcer: "Round One Victor: Kimmie Gracie Cole."

"Surprising nobody," Kimmie says.

…

Round One – Pokemon Trainer Brianna versus Youngster Joey.

Kimmie watches from the same two chairs she and Brianna had been in for hours. It was a humiliating process, being knocked out from the Sevii Cup competition. The victor returned to his chair and watched the next match on the screen. The loser had to walk out of the stadium, collect his paperwork at the gate, and be on his merry way. Two Island was cheap, but this was excessive.

The battles weren't even in high definition. It didn't matter; the conflict on Brianna's face could have been seen with binoculars. In space, Kimmie adds.

"Bring it! Go, Dodrio!" Joey yells. He should feel ashamed, screaming and posing like he's the main character.

His Pokemon appears in the arena, a tri-headed fowl with pecking beaks armed with elemental powers. Kimmie has only seen wild Doduo before. She doesn't like to admit it, but she only knows a handful of Pokemon. Growing up in Hoenn and moving to a sparse archipelago does that. Kimmie wonders: how would she proceed?

Brianna is a Kanto native.

Better yet, she's been defeated by Dodrio before. She would never tell anybody of specific defeats—it would betray her fallen comrades—but Brianna would never forget, either.

She tilts the brim of her hat up and out of her vision. Holds her Pokeball out strong and proud.

"Dawson," she asks politely. "I need you now."

And just when the audience thinks she'll battle quietly—

"Let's rock!"

The flash of light clears and Dawson waits on the battlefield. The docile creature from Casey's backyard is gone. Dawson is hunched, its paws scratching the concrete stage and its whiskers pulsing. Eyes like slits, teeth hungry for an opening.

Poor Youngster Joey never had a chance. "Tri-Attack him!"

I always enjoy watching Brianna battle. It's something Kimmie is noticing: she never demands a move from her Pokemon. Not that they could refuse to attack, but that illusion of choice is still an uncommon courtesy. Few humans extend that to one another.

Dawson is not an unappreciative Raticate. Perhaps he understands the risks of being a common Pokemon swept into a Challenge match. Or maybe he has seen cruel Trainers, and is aware of Brianna's kindness.

Regardless, he is ready for action. The two Pokemon race for one another.

Dodrio leaps high above the arena, and its small wings flutter to propel it above the stadium altogether. The three heads part ways. Each one shrouds in a different light, each one engulfed by a different element. As the opponent descends, its three heads turn to one another.

Beaks inches away from meeting. And when they touch, Dawson might not remain in this world.

Brianna knows. She waits.

The Dodrio re-enters the stadium. Its body blocks the sunlight, and the feathered silhouette falls faster…_faster…_

The final stage of the attack: Dodrio opens its feathers, stretches its legs, and it body is an open target. It moves to touch beaks—

"Dawson, Hyper Fang! Now!"

Dawson is a blur on the wind. Dodrio's sky-high leap is put to shame as the Raticate jolts forward and rockets straight up, a ninety-degree bullet, teeth ready.

The other Trainers around Kimmie are in an uproar. These matches are going too quickly. Obviously there had been _zero_ quality control during registration. Kimmie's match had taken under a minute, and Brianna was a close second to that record. If this turned out to be a waste of time, Kimmie might be angrier at Shepard than she was for being asked to help in the first place.

…Though Kimmie never misses a chance to have fun.

"Ouch," she drawls. "That's _gonna_ leave a mark." Heads turn at her. She cares so little, it's phenomenal.

Dawson lands back first, and when Dodrio crashes onto the concrete, the on-lookers are silent. Somewhere a stunned Sophie contemplates exactly what it would take to best a Trainer with this power; somewhere a confused Casey asks where this power came from.

And back on the floor, Brianna is dead silent. There is no cheer, no grin, not even a fist pump. There is one thought.

One down.

…

"I feel like you need to lighten up a bit," Kimmie offers when Brianna returns. Thanks to the steady flow of elimination, the row of chairs opened up entirely. Kimmie's legs sprawl across the next two chairs, and Brianna sits sideways. Four rows up, the other Trainers clustered around the battle at hand. It was adorable, Kimmie thought. They were all worried. "This isn't serious at all," she says.

"It's serious to me," Brianna replies.

"That's exactly my point, it shouldn't be. The kid you took on threw out an evolved Pokemon, got the sky advantage, earned time to charge an attack—all good moves!—And your Raticate curb-stomped it." Kimmie grins. "I _think_ you can be a bit cocky if you want."

"Are you? Cocky, I mean."

"You have _no_ idea. Brianna, half of the people in mainland Kanto have never seen a Hoenn Pokemon. Do you think these hicks have?"

"Don't be mean." Brianna's lip stiffens.

"I'm not being _mean_, I'm just saying: I'm a world-weary traveler with a championship title. These guys are lunch." And before Brianna can comment on the familiar sentiment: "Speaking of, I'm kind of hungry. You don't think we can go out and get snacks, do you?"

The Trainers around the display recoil as one collective, astounded body. There's cheering, whooping and arms flying.

"I'm going now," Kimmie sighs. Brianna sinks into the chair. "I'll bring you something back when I'm not kicked out for leaving a room."

She hauls herself up and strides to the exit.

"That's not the exit!" Brianna calls after her. "And I don't think—"

"Heard you when you didn't say it the first time," Kimmie calls back.

Kimmie and I are in disagreement: she wants someone to stop her, and I desperately hope that doesn't happen. Would anything be worse for Kimmie Gracie Cole than an opportunity to ask someone if they "know who she is"?

Her delirious fantasy ends when another Trainer slams into her from the stairs. The Trainer who just won, as a matter of fact.

"Ow, watch it!" Kimmie says predictably. She glowers at the other Trainer, daring him to complain.

She barely stifles the smirk. Who did this charlatan think he was? Blue hair flopping around his head like a mop, a lame black shirt from a convenience store, and a heinous five o'clock shadow. He might as well have been a stadium employee for all the finesse to his look.

That said, Kimmie once gave a man a bloody nose for calling her a Hot Topic advertisement. To each her own.

The Trainer stares her down, and neither budges. The other Trainers are still watching the screen, watching the referees pick up the beaten Pokemon from the stage. Brianna watches, hoping against hope that nothing happens. All the Ranch needed was for Kimmie to lose…

"If you'll excuse me," the blue-haired Trainer says. He gestures toward the screen, but his stare remains planted at Kimmie's. He squeezes past her and approaches his chair, but does not sit down.

"Your Pokemon was a Swellow…right?"

Kimmie folds her arms. "Someone's got good eyes."

"You're from Hoenn?" He produces a friendly smile. Stubble frames his tired eyes. "I'm from there myself. Well…technically. I moved between my parents' homes in Kanto and on the Battle Frontier. The political nightmare…I'm sure you're aware of it." He shrugs in her direction, and he's won Brianna over instantly. There is nothing more true than the brotherhood of travelers.

"Of course I'm aware," Kimmie spits. Her stomach grumbles. Enough lame talk, not enough food. She starts for the exit.

"You know," the Trainer continues, "I heard there would be a Hoenn Champion participating." He turns to Brianna, displaying inclusive social tact. "Did you know anything?"

Brianna takes this one. "If she knew, why would she tell you? That's fraternizing with the enemy."

"It is," the Trainer says. "Though personally, I try to have more friends than enemies. Just my philosophy."

Kimmie runs a hand across her face. She had been hit on during morning trips for groceries, on runs to the Pokemon Center, on morning jogs and even been catcalled from inside her Bug. Sweet-talking Brianna was a new low for mankind.

"You're looking at her," Kimmie boasts reluctantly. "Kimmie Gracie Cole, at your service."

The Trainer regards her carefully. Scans her up and down, analyzing her combat boots and her black skirt and her ridiculous hairdo. Kimmie feels his eyes linger at hips, but when she puts her fists at her waist and glowers, _he's_ the one trying not to laugh.

"Kimmie Cole," he says. "Nice to meet you. I'm Zack Forest."

He returns to her and extends a hand. It dies between them.

"Can I ask one more question?" Zack asks gently. "I don't mean to keep you, I'm just curious."

Kimmie rolls her eyes. "What do you want?" She sighs.

"What year did you beat the Elite Four?"

A pause. "Excuse me?"

"What year did you get your title?" Zack repeats, as though she couldn't hear the first time. Her silence tips him off: maybe this was a sore spot. "I'm just curious. I went back and forth between Kanto and Hoenn a lot—"

"You told us," Kimmie groans.

"—And I don't remember hearing about you," Zack says simply.

Kimmie thanks her steeled nerves. Years of Pokemon Battles have left her incapable of blushing, stuttering or stumbling over words.

"There are a lot of us," Kimmie says simply. "Don't worry about it. Champions blend into the crowd."

"Some of them do," Zack agrees. He nods back to the seated Trainers. "Your friend…that's Brianna, isn't it? The recent Kanto Champion? I mean, it's probably not, since she didn't throw down that crazy Charizard, but still…"

The conversation dies and the corpse calcifies between them.

Zack Forest is either painfully sociable and bored out of his skull, or he knows something he shouldn't.

Either way, it's a less than pleasant time for a certain Pokemon Mercenary. Kimmie manages a nod and a semi-passable smile before taking off up the stairs.

Zack Forest…Another Hoenn Trainer. Speak of the devil.

Other Trainers might see camaraderie. Kimmie sees the tables spin, and not in her favor.

Hoenn. Speak of the _devil._

As she orders and waits for her food, Kimmie wonders what this does to her strategy. Swellow, Hariyama and Blaziken are common Hoenn Pokemon. If she tangles with Forest, he would be familiar with her strategies. And if he knows her strategies, he would probably know how to counter…

"Paranoid," Kimmie scolds herself. Zack Forest would have had to bring a team meant to bring Hoenn Pokemon down, and that made zero sense. Brianna, as well as the other Trainers, all brought Kanto teams. Even if Forest knew her Pokemon, he couldn't beat them. She grins as she pays for her nachos. One dilemma solved.

The other problem…Might be a problem.

Kimmie re-enters the waiting room. "Told you it'd be easy," she announces.

"Put those down!" Brianna calls. She's crowded at the display board, like the significantly-less-skilled wanna-be Trainers. "They put up the matches for round two."

"Excellent. What's my luck?"

"Not…awful?"

The display board has done away with anonymous participant numbers. Kimmie's portrait—one she does not remember taking—sits in a row with the other competitors. She realizes then: all sixteen of the remaining competitors were in this very room.

"We've got this," Kimmie says. She punches Brianna's shoulder. "Between you and me? That Ranch is fine. Fine as a fiddle."

"You mean fit as a fiddle?"

Kimmie makes a face. "Stop hanging out with Sophie. She's a bad influence. Now, as long as we don't have to fight each other or something dumb…"

She scans the board again. Brianna and Kimmie are on complete opposite ends of the board. That sociable scumbag Zack Forest was in Kimmie's division.

Of course. But Kimmie's okay with it: without even a little challenge, this would have been a wash.

"Oh! By the way, you missed it," Brianna says quickly. "This is the halftime break. A bunch of guys came down and asked what we wanted for lunch."

"Huh. What'd you get me?"

"Nachos," Brianna answers.

…

Round Two. Kimmie Gracie Cole versus Psychic Mitchell.

"You think your Swellow is so strong…but is it _smart_? Smart enough for my Venonat's psychic assault?!"

Now, for the uninitiated: this man sent a bug to fight a bird.

It went about as well as you'd imagine.

"No! How did I not forsee this catastrophe?!"

Oh, psychics. Don't you ever change.

* * *

It took a long time, but I think I really like this cast of kids. You know the drill! Read and review!


	8. Sophie II

The Summer of Two Island

…

Chapter 8 – Sophie II

To say the nachos were overpriced would be a heinous understatement. To say they were even remotely worth the time it took Sophie and Wonder to hobble through their row of seats, find the concession stand, wait in line, pay and bring the cardboard box of cheap tortilla chips and cheese back would be asking for a concussion.

"They're not _that_ bad," Casey says. He pulls a chip from the top of the pile. It has almost no cheese, a few grains of salt, and Sophie can taste the disappointment firsthand. When he crunches into it and the expected grimace spreads on his face like a rash, she barely contains the 'I told you so'. Casey swallows. "Really, they're not."

"That's the spirit," Owen agrees. "Try to look on the bright side of life sometimes."

"What's the bright side to particularly-underwhelming nachos?"

"Well, you remembered to bring me a large Coke. Mister Coke would like his very adequate efforts to quench my thirst acknowledged."

"Of course your Coke is fine, Owen. How does somebody mess up a Coke?"

Owen shrugs. "Same way someone loses a Pokemon Battle before it even starts, probably. With staggering incompetence."

That's a harsh way to describe the faults of Two Island teenagers trying to earn money for college by butchering tortilla chips. It's also a fine way to describe losing to Kimmie Gracie Cole in a matter of seconds.

"She wasn't that great," Sophie says.

The next Trainers come out onto the battlefield. They're nobody important. Sophie wonders, why would anyone call herself a Cooltrainer, or a Youngster or an Ace or whatever? Was that supposed to make you sound _not_ like a generic NPC in the game of life?

Pokemon Breeder Hayley sent out her Gloom to fight Lass Bonnie's Electrode. The battle began with exactly the same painful roaring as before. When the audience fell into conniptions the first time, Sophie had been swept up in the crowd hive mind and cheered along. When the hive mind beckoned for the fifteenth time in half as many minutes, Sophie began to tune out. And when it became evident that Brianna and Kimmie would be battling for one hundredth of the time...

Casey and Owen had been floored. Kimmie's Swellow had barely been picked up by the display screens when it wrecked its enemy. That said nothing of Brianna and her Raticate. Sophie expected her cousin's Pokemon to be strong, what with the Challenge raising their stakes and forcing them to fight for real, but the one-hit-KO Hyper Fang was too much.

In a perfect world, it would come down to Brianna and Kimmie in a fight for the Cup. And even if Kimmie didn't back down, Brianna could take her.

Things were looking up.

Key-word being _was_.

"Owen?" says Josh Adelson. "Owen Shepard? Is that you?" The words are barely audible over the sounds of combat and its onlookers. So, instead of realizing that this was not the time to discuss overdue loans, the portlier Adelson brother simply yells louder. "Shepard! Over here! _Shepard!_ I know you hear me, you dog!"

Owen's head hangs. He rubs the bridge of his nose. "It could be worse," he jokes. "He could be interrupting something interesting."

No offense to the contestants, who were certainly battling their hearts out. Just...Gloom failed in its fifth attempt to break paralysis, and Electrode seemed to forget everything more than rolling around.

Owen gets up slowly, but Casey is defiant. "You're not seriously going over there," he complains.

"It's that or he screams his lungs out." Always so considerate, Shepard.

Sophie raises a hand. She has to pull an arm free from Wonder, who's hogging her lap as his personal throne. "I'm with the kid on this one. Just saying, Brianna _did_ have to bare-hand block a fist last time you two talked."

"That's a fair point." The unspoken part: she-who-catches-fists was currently unavailable.

Sophie groans. She jabs Wonder in his fat back, and when it doesn't get the memo, she stands, picks him up from under his arms and plops him down in her place.

"Wow, what happened to you, Sophie?" Casey says looking at Wonder beside him. "It's like you got prettier all of the sudden."

"Har-har." Then, to Owen: "Come on, let's go. I'm not letting you get your face busted up alone."

"Adelson wouldn't dare bust up my face. I'm by far his most handsome client."

The two squeeze past the on-lookers out of the row, and when they find Josh Adelson, he's already moved out of the aisle and back into the main stadium. When her boss got his face kicked in by Cue Balls, at least Sophie would get to watch while standing in top-of-the-line air conditioning.

Her eyes are unprepared for the stadium halls' dull cobalt interior. Sophie rubs her eyes frantically. What if when she finally did see, she'd get an eye-load of Cue Ball fist?

Luckily for Two Island Ranch, Owen maintains his composure. He stares subdued daggers into the portly, middle-aged Adelson.

"So," Owen starts. "Fancy seeing you here."

"I know, right?" Adelson hooks his thumbs into his stretching jeans. "I'm not one for these Pokemon things. Josh is the real rock-em-sock-em fan."

Owen has no leverage. He knows that if Adelson Banking wants, it could crush the Blevins ranch and make Owen himself unemployable as a farmhand. The only way to play with a losing hand was to bluff.

"We noticed," Owen says. "He came by the other day. Speaking of which, how's his face?"

"Fine. He won't press charges, if that's what you're getting at."

Owen breathes a sigh of relief. "That's good. I was afraid I'd have to lawyer-up. I mean, defending myself from gangsters hired by my loan officer...Yikes." He pulls his collar, beaming all the while.

My thoughts are in line with dear Sophia. This is surreal. What is it about money that makes humans so quick to act inhumane?

"If there isn't anything else, I think I should probably find a restroom." Owen jabs his thumb down the hall. "I've got a friend coming up in the next round."

"Which one? Kimberly Cole, or Brianna Rowell?" Adelson lowers his eyes at Sophie. "No relation to Miss Sophia Rowell, of course."

"That would be funny, wouldn't it?" Owen laughs.

"It definitely would be. Getting your boss's tramp girlfriend and your intern's cousin to win money for a bankrupt ranch would be a very funny story to sell."

Owen's jaw hardens.

He takes a breath.

"Like I said, I'm going to hit the john. Enjoy the show, Josh. It's one hell of a show." Owen turns and starts down the hall. Sophie is quick to follow.

Adelson clicks his bloated tongue. "Right you are, Mister Shepard. I myself have someone in the tournament on Adelson Banking's behalf. Wouldn't want to miss it."

Owen cranes his head around. An eyebrow jerks up.

"Zack Forest." Adelson swells with pride. "My nephew."

Owen wishes the best of luck to this Forest character, and then he's headed for the restroom. Sophie stays close behind. She has no qualms with John Adelson, but Josh is like something out of a Martin Scorsese flick. They pass the restroom, though Owen makes sure to kill time by buying three burritos from the teenage boy working concessions. If there was irony to spending money at a time like this, it was lost.

"You didn't miss much," Casey tells the two of them when they return. Wonder is flopping around on Casey now, proving how it pays to have a Pokemon-friendly freeloader. "Some guy named Forest came out and wrecked another Ace Trainer. You would have liked him, Sophie. He didn't even have a title.

"But you guys aren't smiling," Casey trails off.

"No. No, we are not." Owen bites the inside of his cheek. Sophie has seen him do that once before; they never again challenged him to a game of chess. "Sophie, I need you to do me a favor."

"Depends on the favor."

"Think you can divine something useful about Zack Forest?"

Casey leans forward to speak with both of them, chunks of bean and cheese in his teeth. "Oh, I can help with that. He threw out a Gardevoir."

"Meaning he's Hoenn-based," Owen says.

"He switched out for a Pelipper midway through the fight," Casey continues. "Nobody told me Hoenn Pokemon were weird. And I mean, yeah, Kanto Pokemon are a little boring from time to time, but...what exactly _is_ a Gardevoir?"

"It's the fully-evolved form of Ralts, a rare Psychic."

Casey, Owen, and even Wonder turn their dubious stares toward the intern.

"What?" Sophie blushes. "I'm allowed to be smart sometimes." Then, restoring her bearings: "Pelipper is another evolved Pokemon, too, Water-Flying type. Forest isn't playing around. He brought a solid team."

"That he did." Owen purses his lips. "That he did."

They didn't speak for the rest of the day's matches. For the record, there was only one left. How Bug Catcher Lawrence made it this far was beyond me.

…

Another party at the Shepard home. Or was it the Blevins home? Shepard-property on the Blevins home? Blevins home on the Shepard property?

"I'll arm-wrestle you for it," Randall drawls. He pushes the napkins and pizza boxes from the table in a broad sweep, then slams his arm onto the surface. Bent at the elbow, fingers itching for an opponent. What was it about Two Island and competition?

Owen finishes his soda. "I'm not sure about this."

"What, you're afraid you'll hurt me and I'll have'ta fire you?"

Owen smirks. "Yes, actually. Though if you insist..."

A smaller crowd than the previous party had come around this evening. The celebration began almost as soon as the stadium announced the match-ups for tomorrow. Emerging from the best the Sevii Islands had to offer, four Trainers emerged ready for combat in the semi-final round. Kimmie Gracie Cole welcomed the opportunity to drink her mind into oblivion for the upteenth night in a row. Brianna was nowhere to be seen...nor was Casey for that matter.

Sophie didn't mind. She had her own business to attend to.

It was fine if Owen and Randall joked around tonight. They couldn't do anything to help Kimmie and Brianna even if they wanted to. And Casey...hell, just _being_ Casey was enough to keep Brianna going forward.

She laughs as she pushes Wonder into her bedroom and pulls the door shut. Visiting your town and flirting shamelessly with one of your housemates...what a cousin-ly thing to do.

At any rate, Sophie had yet to pull her own weight. It was time to fix that. She reaches under her mattress. _The Art of Divination_ hasn't been used since the last time she set up shop, the day Brianna came into town. The pages all have post-it notes sticking out, marking important pages and bearing scrawled chickenscratch of their own.

Sophie sits cross-legged on her carpeted floor. She is careful not to lean on anything. Posture has to be perfect, concentration at full potential.

The ritual doesn't require anything fancy. If she needed dim lights or a pentagram or something dumb and flashy, this wouldn't work. Sophie isn't doing anything fancy. She isn't looking for specifics, she isn't trying to find exactly what Forest will throw out at them.

All she needs to know is the fight order.

Wonder sits across from her. His braids sprawl along the floor. Sophie reaches out and takes the bells at each end into her palms.

"No more lazing around," she tells him. "Time to be useful for a change." She closes her eyes.

It's all about focus, Chris and Cindy had taught her. It's not about how much work goes in, as much as how you _do_ the work itself.

Ugh. She did need to call them, didn't she?

...That's not the topic right now! Focus, Sophie. Focus.

The four combatants come into her mind's eye. Brianna Rowell, Kimmie Gracie Cole, Zack Forest, Bug Catcher Lawrence. She barely contains the smirk.

There's not enough psychic energy between the herself and Wonder to see exact events. Sophie shifts gears. She searches for the match chart.

On one side...Brianna.

Far off on the other...Kimmie.

Meaning that in the best-case scenario, they'd be going one-on-one for the Sevii Cup. Brianna would most likely forfeit. The ranch gets its funding, and everything is peachy keen.

Then Brianna is free to leave town again. Sophie frowns. Don't think about that right now, either.

Back to the match-ups. Can she find Zack Forest?

"This isn't right," Sophie tells Wonder. "I'm not getting it. Finding match-ups isn't supposed to be this complicated, right?"

She peeks at the oblivious, almost-asleep Chingling. "You're no help," she laughs. Then back to business.

So she can't find anything about Forest or that unlucky Bug Catcher. Maybe she can find if both Brianna and Kimmie make it to the final round.

And...Welp, there you have it.

"Kimmie loses," she says under her breath. It's a flood of images. The Pokemon themselves are shrouded in uncertainty, but the confident glare of a man with blue hair—Zack Forest—opposite Kimmie's agonized expression said it all.

Then it will be Adelson's trainer up against theirs. Brianna versus Forest.

Sophie shot up, breaking her link with Wonder and knocking him into a daze. I didn't blame her. She had a point: this was a little too coincidental.

I had several choices before me.

I could follow Sophie. I could find Brianna. Or, I could follow the energy that blocked our young psychic from seeing Forest in her visions.

Because let us be frank.

Some_thing_ was blocking her. Sophie would not have found employment without a certain level of skill in her craft. It was the same psychic energy from the first night on the island, by the coast. And because it actively affected its will upon another source, the trail would not fade as fast...The user could not fade as fast.

I mentally apologize to Brianna. She should not require her Locker-enhanced strength for the night, but if she does, I will have to take leave.

I am careful not to be seen as I reveal myself in Sophie Rowell's bedroom.

Wonder nods to me. I nod back.

Psychic Pokemon, I will have you know, are the most trustworthy individuals in our world.

He turns his attention to his owner's window, then opens it softly with a concentrated psychic display. I slip out, thank my friend for his assistance, and then...I fly.

The trail has begun to chill. But as I race Father Time, I remind him that none in this world are my peer.

I soar back through the forest. My assumption proved true: this was the same energy that young Casey sensed days ago. I glide through the familiar trees and come onto the coast. From here, I continue out over the ocean. The psychic energy has left the island, and if I were to have waited, the trail would have vanished. I cannot turn away now.

I recognize this new island easily. When a new Legendary is born into this world, it receives its own plot of land, isolated from the humans. Here it learns the depths of its undoubtedly terrible powers, and here it waits until mankind dares to challenge it.

I find who I am looking for. He waits overlooking the chaotic waves, and when I come to hover behind him, he is not surprised. Quite the opposite.

His voice beams through my mind. It is not speech. Though since humans lack the facilities to appreciate extrasensory communication, let's pretend our connection is the simple vibrations in the wind to which humans are so attached.

He speaks.

"I was afraid you would never find me."

"I know. The fault is mine," I concede. "I assumed you would have more tact than to take another's home as your base. This is Birth Island, is it not?"

"It is." His deep, rhythmic voice booms in my consciousness. "Deoxys permitted me its use. It pays to have friends in high places, brother."

"You are no brother of mine."

"Our names would say something different."

He turns to face me now. It is bizarre having this conversation _again_. He's right: we share enough features that we may as well have come from the same mother.

"Your mother is a test tube," I spit. "I serve a higher reason."

He waves a thick, powerful hand. The three fingers capable of crushing stone wave lazily. "Here we go again. Mew, my older brother, claiming that protecting humanity is a 'higher reason'. I have told you before and I will tell you again: humans do not deserve you. They created me in your image. Is that not sacrilegious enough to confuse your love?"

This could go on all night. I would not leave Brianna alone that long if I could avoid it. "What do you want with the boy, Mewtwo?"

He smiles.

"The boy? You don't mean Casey, do you? Humans have names."

I do not take his bait. I know my brother. This is what he wants.

I am silent, and it works.

"Fine, be your dramatic self. _Yes_, Casey figures into my dastardly scheme. Is that what you wanted to hear from me?" He sneers. "Are you _satisfied_?"

The last time he had anything resembling a scheme, the Kanto side of the combined Kanto/Johto continent very nearly sank into the ocean.

"Tell me," Mewtwo asks. "How are the Birds doing? They have to know that I walk the earth again. Are the four of you planning to seal me in that cave again?" He laughs. "The cave that humans broke apart to free me, of course."

"Humans freed you, but they did not know better. That was not now. Unlike then, there exist individuals who will stand against you."

"Right, quite right. The Nuzlocke Challenge. You brought your Locker to the island to defeat and seal me, correct?"

I say nothing.

"Of course you brought her here," my brother snarls. "Because it goes against your precious Covenant of Legendary Pokemon to battle me yourself. Always one for rules, aren't you, Mew?"

"I will only ask you once. Leave this place."

"I cannot do that."

"Then I will persuade you."

He's laughing as though I told a particularly risque joke. Hands at his stomach, hunched over, and a hint of a smile appears on his frozen grimace. When he is again upright, the merriment is gone.

"Let me show you something."

He extends a finger. The water off of the cliff behind him start to rush, the waves crashing and cascading with unnatural force. The faint purple glimmer on the water surface belies Mewtwo's psychic influence.

I watch closely. The ocean has parted at the very edge of the island. Mewtwo extends his other hand. A small rock floats up toward us, wrapped in that same violet hue.

I recognize it immediately.

"How did you get that?" I ask, failing to mask the panic.

"The Mega Stones are not exclusive to the Kalos region. Humans only think this because no other stones have been found. How flawed is that? It's thinking that Pokemon exist only in this world because we have not visited others. It's preposterous.

"That said...the existence of not one but _two_ versions of Mewtwonite is preposterous in and of itself. And _especially_ preposterous for you."

My brother lowers his arms. The stone falls back into the sea, and the walls of water surround and protect it once more.

And then his arms are pointed to me.

"I could squash you like a ripe summer fruit, brother. I could use my Mewtwonite X and become mighty. Our feud would be settled in seconds."

"You would like that," I reply.

"I would." He lowers his arms. "But then...I would not get what I really want. As I told you before, my scheme would not see completion. Because believe me, I do have a scheme."

A painful, tentative silence sweeps. Birth Island. Not even the omnipresent swoon of the sea makes herself known.

"I will say this in no uncertain terms."

His voice booms. It is a show of force through our connected minds. "You will leave Birth Island, and I will not kill you where I stand. When your Locker finds herself involved in my plans—as I guarantee you Pokemon Champion Brianna Rowell will—you may desire to return here. If you do, I will not be so merciful to either of you.

"Do I make myself clear?"

He enunciates each word. As though he speaks to a toddler.

He bluffs.

...Or do I want to believe that he bluffs?

I weigh the odds, and Mewtwo watches me do so triumphantly.

To be sure, the Challenge offers my strength to Trainers. I offer power, but I cannot tap into it myself. I cannot augment myself. My powers are what they are.

It is not a question of if I could overpower a Mega Mewtwo X. I could not.

Other Legendaries have overextended their resources. They do not live to tell the tale. That Kimberly Cole still breathes and Kyogre does not is proof enough.

I play the only card I have left.

I flee.

For now.

…

The morning comes. Would it be too much to have expected a red sun?

Two Island Ranch treats the morning as any other. Randall and Owen set to cleaning up, while Kimmie and Brianna sit at the breakfast table. They have to force-feed. Their stomachs are closed, their minds clouded.

Sophie takes the longest to get ready. She takes another twenty minutes in her room, tying her hair in its routine left-side ponytail and selecting a curl to poke out over her forehead. Her fingers slip on the hair tie.

Why was _she_ nervous? She wasn't the one with a ranch on the line. She wasn't the one with a title, or even the lives of the Pokemon fighting for that title, on the line.

...That was exactly the point, though.

Sophie hates being powerless. She felt powerless living at home, where Chris and Cindy could judge her for divining with Pokemon help, and could champion her loser of a brother, while she was financially dependent and obligated to take it in silence. But in that situation—as her parents often reminded her—Sophie could leave. She could not leave the ranch, and she could not leave Brianna.

She is powerless, but she has to be strong.

The ride to the stadium is worse than the day before. They could blame the silence on Kimmie's drinking. Sophie nipped that in the bud when she pulled Kimmie aside, only two beers in, and told her the future.

...

"You lose tomorrow," Sophie had said.

"That's a little harsh, intern."

"I'm serious." Sophie kept her voice down. They were outside, on the side of the house as the party raged inside. They needed to watch for prying eyes. "I used my abilities and saw the match-ups for tomorrow. Brianna and Forest are the final battle. You're up against him first, and he beats you."

Kimmie held her third, barely-open and barely-sipped beer in a tight grip. She took a breath. Then she poured it out over the dirt ground and threw the can into the tall grass.

"Talk." Kimmie's crimson hair ties paled next to her hazel glare's ferocity. "How do I lose?"

"I don't know. I didn't see the events—"

"Oh, that's just peachy. You just came out here to tell me that I'm going to _lose_, but you have no intention to help—"

"Keep your voice down!" And before Kimmie could push it: "I don't think I'm allowed to give you hints like this, if you get my drift." It keeps Kimmie from getting louder.

It also got the gears in Kimmie's head turning. "I lose," she repeated.

"I'm thinking, whatever you were planning to do tomorrow, _don't_ do." Sophie threw her hands out, exaggerating the advice. "Switch your Pokemon order, use a different hold item, don't use hold items at all. Just change your tactics."

"That's not a bad idea. I was sending Swellow in first, but maybe sending in a heavyweight to hit from the get-go—wait. Something's fishy." She jabbed a finger at Sophie's chest. It took everything in the young psychic not to tear it off of Kimmie's pale, fleshy hand. "Why are you helping me?"

"As opposed to...what?"

"As opposed to letting your cousin take the title for herself," Kimmie accused.

The answer bit at Sophie's tongue.

Because if Brianna loses, her Pokemon don't faint. They die for real. Brianna never went into specifics for what happens if her party wipes out, but seeing as how she had strict rules for even _catching_ Pokemon...

"I don't care about the title, and neither does she," Sophie said. "We need that money to save the ranch. It's not fair to Brianna to make her our only hope."

"Especially when that was my job," Kimmie agreed with a grin. She noded. "Thanks for the tip, intern. I'll take it from here. Forest won't get past me."

Done and done.

Sophie walked off. She wanted to crawl into bed with her pillows. She wanted to be alone. What she just did had been very illegal, but it had also been the only way to _not_ be powerless. She wanted to forget.

"Wait," Kimmie called to Sophie's back. "I didn't mean that."

"You didn't mean...what?"

Kimmie's smile was gone. In its place was, for the first time, sincerity.

"I meant, thanks, Sophie."

…

Even I wondered if the intern and mercenary would ever bring that moment up again.

They parked in the fifteen-dollar zone again. Owen paid, no questions asked. Sophie, Casey, and Owen had to wait in a longer line than before: this one stretched down the block, wrapped around the stadium, and cut back around the stadium entrance. Vendors had set up hot dog and cotton candy stands to take advantage of the wait.

"You should have set up your fortune telling thingy here," Kimmie suggests.

The five of them wait as a group until call time for the remaining fighters. Brianna breaks away from their group first. Her steps are long, calculated. Ready. Kimmie follows, but she's sure to flash a thumbs-up to Sophie first.

"What was that for?" Owen asks. Sophie does not answer.

The march back to their seats is another lesson in patience. Owen pretends to not have his eyes open for Josh or John Adelson, but even his cool demeanor breaks under the pressure. They're in their same seats from the day before, drinks in hand, when Casey breaks the tension.

"Check it out," he says pointing to the helicopters circling the stadium. "I'll bet we're on TV right now."

"We are," Owen answers. "Randall is watching from home."

"Why didn't he come out?"

"He said something about running numbers," Owen says. That's the end of it, because immediately after he finishes, the match-ups for the day reveal themselves on the display.

Everyone is surprised but Sophie Rowell, Two Island Ranch Intern and Part-Time Diviner.

"They're coming out," Casey says. The announcer's words are lost in the audience chaos. It's round one: Pokemon Champion Brianna and Bug Catcher Lawrence.

I won't bore you. The battle is just like you'd expect.

But Sophie clutches to Wonder's sides, all the same.

* * *

You know the drill! Review and let me know what you think. Even if you don't, thanks for reading this far.


	9. Kimmie III

The Summer of Two Island

…

Chapter 9 – Kimmie III

Kimmie does not believe in karma. Not usually. The realization that those nervous Trainers she laughed at yesterday were certainly laughing at her own intimidation was fleeting. Fleeting and dumb. Those other Trainers already lost, so nuts to anything they have to say.

Everything that mattered to her in the moment was in this room. Brianna and that moron Lawrence slugging it out on the screen in front of her, and Zack Forest sitting smugly on the other end of her row. Taunting her without so much as a word. He sat there on purpose, the scumbag.

He's wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Probably spent the night partying it up, just like she did. Though Forest didn't have the luxury of a change of clothes in Randall Blevins' dresser.

Forest attempted to make conversation when the two of them first sat down. Kimmie doesn't remember what he tried to say. She tuned him out.

"Let the best man win," he said as he finished his banal greeting. Confident scumbag louse.

On the display, Lawrence was down one Pokemon: his Beedrill put up a fight, but Brianna's Fearow (What kind of name was Gabby?) drill-peck'd it into next week. There was a hush as everyone waited for Lawrence to resign. He surprised nobody when he threw his Butterfree, yet another bug, into the ring.

...Well, now Lawrence was down _two_ Pokemon.

"Dang," Forest says. "Note to self: never tangle with Brianna. Though that is kind of inevitable, isn't it?"

Kimmie is silent. Forest sighs, then stretches his arms.

"I'm trying to be civil, Kimmie. Cut me some slack."

"Nobody's asking you to be civil," she replies coolly. She folds her arms and crosses her legs. Her left foot bobs. Up, down, Up, down.

Up, down.

"What's on your mind?" Forest asks.

"I'm wondering which of my Pokemon to send out and wreck you with."

Forest feigns insult. "Harsh. I wish I knew what Pokemon you had beside Swellow. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a few aces in the hole."

Kimmie gives him nothing.

"I mean, poor Brianna. We know exactly what she's packing. That Level 72 Charizard of hers...He's got me scared stiff."

She agrees with him on one front. Poor Brianna.

The rules required that a Trainer could only change teams right before the finals, and if they did, they had to reveal the changes. Brianna only brought two Pokemon in to start, so she tacked her Charizard on as a third.

Before Lawrence's match started, the screen had showed Charizard's moves, its stats, its nature value and even its bloody ribbons.

It was mortifying.

Lawrence throws out a curve-ball with his last Pokemon, a very-formidable Poliwrath. Brianna pulls Gabby back and releases Dawson the Raticate onto the field. She knows everyone is waiting for her Charizard, but she doesn't seem to care, and it makes no sense. Kimmie knows that if her Blaziken—her unstoppable Blaziken—were a level 72 Charizard, she'd have used it from beginning to end. What was Brianna holding back?

Too late to ask. Dawson's teeth slice the Poliwrath's slick rubbery skin into caviar.

"Final Round One...Winner: Pokemon Trainer Brianna!"

"That's a wrap," Zack Forest says. He applauds Brianna with limp hands, then turns to face Kimmie. "Looks like it's down to you and me, Hoenn buddy."

Kimmie's skin crawls. She stands quickly.

Sophie had warned her she would lose.

In the hours since that information, Kimmie had nothing more than she did before. She was honest with herself; she had no plan.

That didn't mean she had _no _plan. The previous matches told Kimmie she was up against a Gardevoir and a Pellipper, two Pokemon she encountered several times back home. What was Forest's final Pokemon?

What was his ace in the hole?

Forest gets to the stadium entrance first. He hangs back and smiles. "Ladies first."

As if on cue, Brianna enters collapses onto Kimmie. Her head falls in the mercenary's chest, jaw open and arms hanging lamely.

"I did it," Brianna sings to nobody. "I did it."

Kimmie pulls the girl to her feet. "Yeah, you did. Not bad, Bri-awnuh."

"Yes, Miss Rowell. Not bad." Forest's words sober Brianna instantly. "I can't wait to meet your Charizard later today. Once I'm done thrashing your friend, of course."

"Not going to happen," Kimmie grumbles back. Brianna sits in her familiar chair, in the second to last row, as Kimmie Gracie Cole takes her place at the stadium.

Brianna is lonely.

Lonely, and yet she feels at home.

For Kimmie, this place is alien. But she has never felt more alive.

To the mercenary, the crowds might as well not exist. The noise, the announcer, the helicopters and the display showing Kimmie's flawless pores and glistening blond twintails in high definition do nothing to distract her.

Opposite her, Forest reaches to his belt. His first Pokeball—technically a high-grade Ultra Ball—is already in his grip.

"Round Two! Pokemon Mercenary and Hoenn Champion Kimmie Gracie Cole, versus Two-Time Frontier Brain and Hoenn Champion Zack Forest."

The announcer's words surround Kimmie with courage. She made it this far. And if she could come this far...

"Battle...Start!"

Forest's Pokeball explodes in the arena in tandem with her own. Swellow soars high into the sky, making a grand display before settling at a hover. Its foe emerges: a white veil of a Pokemon, with a lime-green head and sweet, calming blue eyes. Forest had gone with Gardevoir, a Psychic.

It would be fast, but speed was Swellow's game. "Swellow—Aerial Ace! Go!"

"Not bad. Gardevoir, Light Screen."

Swellow is all afterimages. It clips past human vision and appears at Gardevoir...but that's all it does. The familiar Light Screen shield appears between the two Pokemon, glimmering violet in the sun. Gardevoir is pushed back slightly, barely tapped by the advanced technique.

Kimmie's breath catches. _Nothing_ blocks an Aerial Ace—

"Before the bird can move: Psybeam." Forest snaps folds his arms, and when he issues the command, he flicks a lock of blue hair. Kimmie wants to hate his confidence, but when Swellow smashes into the concrete ground as though hammered by the Gods, she is at a loss. Stone and dust kicks up around the hurt, immobilized Swellow.

"She's a target," Kimmie says to herself. Then, loudly: "Swellow, get out of there! Fly!"

The cobalt falcon doesn't move. Paralysis!

Forest's next orders are frighteningly cool. "Set up a Future Sight. Then, Psychic."

The moves execute seamlessly. Gardevoir raises both arms and pauses for a fraction of a second, concentrating...then its arms are out at the stunned Swellow. The bird never has a chance. The psychic strike is strong enough to scatter wind. Swellow's unconcsious body rolls along the blasted field.

"That's the end of that," Forest says. "Unless you'd like to keep going."

"Count on it," says an undeterred Kimmie. She returns her beaten Swellow to its ball and tosses another into the ring. "Hariyama, you're up!"

The muscular Pokemon grounds it heaving legs, spreads its arms wide, and stares Gardevoir down.

"Kimmie, I thought you were a Hoenn Champion? Don't you know better than to send a Fighting Type against a Psychic?"

_I know that_, Kimmie scolds herself. This is the only defensive play she has. Hariyama won't beat Gardevoir, but it can stall. The move 'Psychic' only has eight more uses. If Hariyama can weather even half of them, then Blaziken can come in and sweep the—

A blinding flash of light! Hariyama's shriek of agony runs up the spines of every audience member.

When the light clears, Hariyama is a twitching mass. Gardevoir hovers silently.

"Oh, no!" The announcer narrates. "Future Sight! A critical hit, _and_ it's Super Effective!"

Hariyama goes back in the Pokeball. Kimmie apologizes to the red and white ball before returning it to her belt clip. Hariyama did his best. Sometimes, critical hits just happen.

Kimmie retrieves the final ball and held it high.

"Oh! Hold on!" Forest yells. "Switching out." He extends the Ultra Ball, and Gardevoir disappears. "Honestly, I've been waiting quite a while for _this_ part of the match."

Something about that just rubs Kimmie wrong. He was waiting for _parts_ of the match. As though he would inevitably win. Knocking out Swellow and Hariyama were just formalities.

"This isn't over yet," Kimmie bellows. "Blaziken, it's up to you!"

"Funny, that's my line. Go, Blaziken."

...Now, even _I_ didn't see this coming.

The audience holds its collective breath as two Blazikens loom on opposite sides of the damaged stage. It's a rare sight: two towering, crimson bird Pokemon with their wise, knowing eyes and immovable legs. Fully-evolved, fully-trained and a nightmare to fight against.

Kimmie processes Forest's words again.

He had waited for this.

He had possessed a Blaziken from the start. All variables had been eliminated from that one unchangeable outcome. Kimmie Gracie Cole would just be the cheap thrill in another lame hick-town tournament.

...And what would any of us do in that scenario? Surrender and save oneself the embarrassment of a certain beatdown? Stall the battle long enough to draw out Forest's most powerful moves, giving Brianna an edge in the final match?

None of the above.

Kimmie starts issuing attacks. "Sky Uppercut!"

"Blaziken, you too." Forest's calmness turns Kimmie's world red. Time to wipe that smug grin off of his pretty blue head—

The two Blazikens (Or is 'Blaziken' already plural?) meet at the arena center, right where that handy Pokeball logo ends, and block one another's attacks, catching the rising talons in their own. They push at one another, legs steady and talons gripping.

Almost as if in agreement, they release each other and bounce back.

Their next strikes are not commands. Let this serve as proof: Pokemon are not drones to be ordered. They have wills, they have fears, and in the case of a sudden rival, they have a very human emotion called pride.

The Blazikens trade blows back and forth, swiping and kicking and clawing at the other's taut feathered muscles. It's an exercise in futility to the combatants, and a moving dance to the audience. A swirling whirlwind of crimson.

They bounce back yet again. In physical strength, they were equal. That said, there was more to Pokemon Training than who could punch hardest.

"Try this!" Kimmie roars. "Use your Flamethrower!"

Forest snaps his fingers. "Blaziken, the same from you!"

The audience knows what's coming. There is a held breath as both fowls lean back, suck in heaving gasps of air, hold for a second, and—

Torrents of fire meet in the arena center! The flames melt into one united fireball, where the force of the individual Blazikens disappears. They cease their strikes simultaneously, and like clockwork, the fireball vanishes.

Kimmie swore. This was worse than before. At least with Gardevoir, she knew her Pokemon stood no chance. _This_ was a joke.

"Kimberly Cole."

Forest's words shock Kimmie out of her focus. She does not bother correcting him.

"This has been fun...But I've seen what I need to see. The great Pokemon Mercenary is, at the end of the day...just a pretty girl with a smart mouth."

The few laughs from the crowd stab at Kimmie's core. She staggers and catches herself.

Forest stretches his arms. "I'll finish this. Kimberly, tell me...You are unfamiliar with the Kalos region, right?"

She says nothing. The battle has to turn in her favor, and _fast_. Think, Kimmie. Think!

"Mega Evolution was discovered in Kalos sometime ago, but it was something of an open secret until very recently." Forest smiles. "When you travel, you pick up things. Learn skills that perhaps don't come easy to people...Like telling lies, maybe."

The expected _Excuse me?_ hangs in Kimmie's dry throat.

All pretense of friendly competition ends. Forest glares at her as though she is a dust mite under his bed. "Playtime is over. Blaziken...evolve."

What was he talking about?

...The 'evolve' bit, she means. Kimmie knows very well what 'lies' he refers to. That Forest knows her secret, but has the tact—or maybe the kindness—not to expose it in such a public forum is beyond humiliation. She is being toyed with, beaten down, made an example of, and then told in no uncertain terms that her very persona is flawed.

Kimmie almost doesn't swallow it.

Not until Forest's Blaziken glows in a blinding purple light. It's Psychic energy mixed with something else, something green and blue and red and shimmering like a distant star. The lights swirl into a whirlpool that surrounds, then engulfs Forest's Blaziken. The light hardens around its figure.

This is what Mewtwo has, I realize. This is the power my brother holds over me.

I have sympathized for all of Two Island Ranch's cast. Watching Kimmie fight something she has no hope to overcome, and remembering the events of Birth Island...I empathize for the first time.

The light explodes, a cocoon of energy shattering like fine glass.

Blaziken has changed. Strings of suspended fire hang from its wrists and wrap around its pointed knuckles. Its white feathers have turned a deep wood brown, almost black around the eyes. It's essentially a color scheme change, I think. Nothing more.

I reserve panic for when this Mega Blaziken folds its talons into fists, then raises its arms and comes up on one leg. A fighting stance.

Kimmie's Blaziken is no longer a rival. It is no longer an opponent...it is prey.

To her credit, Kimmie would have made a fine Locker. She and her Blaziken are in sync, such that when she releases a war cry, Blaziken rushes forward in an unprompted Sky Uppercut.

Mega Blaziken raises its knee high to its chest. Kimmie's Blaziken strikes its shin, and in the moment Blaziken needs to ground its legs before retreating, Mega Blaziken has a technique ready.

Forest is more announcing the move than ordering it: "Brick Break."

It's a sucker-punch to the side of the head. Kimmie's Blaziken tries to fall to its knees and brace itself, but Mega Blaziken grabs its opponent and holds it, dangling helplessly, by the shoulder. Mega Blaziken pulls a flame-wrapped fist back, and again, moves before Forest can say—

"Follow-up move. Sky Uppercut."

Oh God, it's brutal. Mega Blaziken slams its fist into its prey's chest, holding onto its feathers tightly all the while. Kimmie's vanilla Blaziken shoots into the sky, a patch of feathers noticeably ripped off, and Mega Blaziken jumps after it—

"Final strike. Brave Bird."

—Extends that bent leg and kicks into vanilla Blaziken. They careen toward the stage together. Vanilla Blaziken makes a snow angel out of the concrete when it hits.

Mega Blaziken steps off of its back. Casually. It's getting off of the fine carpet.

The announcer is slow to call it. I wonder: was everyone as stunned and I was by the startling, sickening effectiveness of that display..or was this pause just to show instant-replay on cable television?

Finally, the announcer: "That's a wrap! Round Two Winner: Zack Forest! Zack Forest moves on to the final round to face Brianna Rowell. One hour away; don't change that channel!"

Mega Blaziken returns to the Pokeball. In its final moments, it turns it back on Blaziken entirely. Way to rub it in, scumbag.

Regardless, scumbag or not...Forest had been victorious.

…

Kimmie can't go back into the waiting room. She has to put her battered Blaziken back in its ball and walk out the back exit. Forest is long gone when Kimmie finally stands up—she does not remember falling on her ass like this—and puts her barely-breathing champion away.

You did a fine job, she wants to say. She wants to tell them all: you did your best.

But that's not true. Pokemon take after their Trainers, and believe me: the shame Kimmie felt here and now, her Pokemon—Blaziken most of all—felt it tenfold.

She starts for the exit.

"Kimmie!"

Of course she would. Kimmie comes out of the waiting room for nachos. A _real_ Champion comes out to console losers. You know, like her.

"You shouldn't be out here," Kimmie tells Brianna. She has to grit her teeth to disguise a cracking—hell, _shattered—_voice. "It's against regulation. Owen can't have you get disqualified—"

"I'm not here about that," Brianna says fast. "I'm...I saw the battle."

"Of course you did. In glorious 1080 Progressive Scan, if I recall correctly."

Brianna moves to touch Kimmie's shoulder. The twintailed girl shudders. Or was she holding back a sob? She herself does not know. She only knows one thing: she will _not_ take Brianna's sympathy.

She will not take anybody's sympathy.

After all, she lost.

It wouldn't have been a problem if Kimmie hadn't talked herself up all this time, either. The 'Two Island Ranch Champion', the one who acted like she owned the place...to put it bluntly? She got wrecked.

And Kimmie had talked a big game the entire time. The entire time! She placed all of her hopes on her Blaziken, justified all of her trash-talking on her Trainer prowess...And she lost.

What did that make her?

...What did that make her?

"Kimmie?" Brianna's voice is lost to the aether.

Kimmie repeats it in her head. She _lost_. And what is she without her pride?

Just another girl with a smart mouth? Another twenty-year-old with fancy hair and a smart mouth.

Dial that back, even. She slept with Randall on-and-off, but she willingly offered to save his ranch. She didn't kid herself: it was to get closer to him. She saw something in that standoffish drunk.

...So that's who she was. Kimmie couldn't just tell somebody her feelings. She couldn't open up to somebody, the way Brianna could do with Casey after twenty bloody minutes. No, Kimmie concocted a scheme to get herself inebriated at Randall's house.

She offered services to be liked by men. Let's put it bluntly.

And at the end of all of it, she _lost_.

The series of losses played in her mind.

Losing her family—they were alive, but she did not have them—then losing at the Elite Four.

Losing her new identity.

Kimberly Cole lost at the Elite Four, smashed into oblivion by Steven and his god-awful Metagross. Kimmie Gracie Cole had been her ticket to rebirth...and she was shattered just as easily when Zack Forest had said her true name on television. It would be a matter of time before people connected her and her Blaziken to the pair smacked down not so long ago in Hoenn. Her reputation as Two Island's lovely Pokemon Mercenary was over.

Welp, she laughed. There went her income. And there went her swanky apartment, too.

What did Kimmie have?

She held her hands before her. Were they always this clammy? Always this small, this bereft of heat...this empty?

"What do I have?" She asks.

Brianna and I watched together. I did not blame the Locker for her silence; I do not believe I would have acted differently.

It was horrifying, how quickly the towering pride of Kimmie Gracie Cole burned to the ground.

"I guess it's up to you."

"Kimmie?"

"I'm saying 'good luck'," Kimmie snaps. Her broken voice is the worst part. Nothing is more frightening than watching the unbreakable be shattered.

The smile—the honest smile that she promised Brianna's cousin—is the nail in the coffin. Kimmie Gracie Cole would die before smiling honestly at anyone. It was just as well.

"Not that you need it," Kimberly finishes. "Go get him, Bri-awnuh."

And before Brianna can reach for her, Kimberly is running for the exit.

...

Zack Forest is waiting for Brianna when she returns to the waiting room. His Pokemon are healed, but both Trainers know there was no need. Kimmie had thrown everything she could, and she literally failed to scratch either Gardevoir or Blaziken.

Mega Blaziken. I repeat it in my mind. _Mega _Blaziken.

Brianna sits in the same chair she had from the first round, and I think. Or better yet, I ponder. Kimmie's defeat is too striking, too calculated to be an act of coincidence.

Bear with me for a moment. There is a chess game to be played. I would not have guided my Locker here if I did not know it.

My brother is waiting on the outskirts of Two Island.

He already possesses a Mega Stone, and thereby power to destroy me. If he were to do that, he would end the fine tradition of the Nuzlocke. My Legendary friends would fight his. Mankind, without a true defender, would not stand.

So Mewtwo does not want chaos and destruction, like he did before.

Or at least, he does not want them _yet_.

Then there is the question of his placement. My brother waits at the end of Two Island Ranch. Brianna went there on my guidance, following my energy as I can follow his. Finding the Ranch was seemingly coincidence. A being of my age should know: nothing is ever coincidence. Mewtwo wants something from the Blevins ranch.

Then there is the element of the Adelson Brothers. Loan sharks sending small-time bullies to settle their deals. Yet even on this small archipelago, business is business. Why are the Adelsons getting personally involved with this one incident? Because Owen Shepard and his Intern are so polite? Of course not.

...And then finally, they enter this Zack Forest character to explicitly break Kimmie Gracie Cole.

I watch him from the corner of my eye. Brianna is shaken, no doubt. She is deep in thought, deeply contemplating using Sawyer and breaking the promise I will tell you about in her chapter. Zack Forest, meanwhile, is simply resting his eyes. Not even bothering to speak with his competition. He knows he will win, but he has no desire in humiliating and shattering her.

So the Adelsons send their blue-haired pretty boy to destroy Kimmie. It leaves Brianna, a very emotional girl who—I speak with the utmost respect—will likely surrender if Dawson or Gabby are beaten. She has done it before, and again, that is in our next chapter.

Forest knows: he just has to beat a Fearow or a Raticate with his top-tier Hoenn Pokemon.

It is troubling to me, that these events are all somehow unrelated. Where is my brother involved in it? Where do these happenings coalesce?

Brianna clears her throat. It gets Zack Forest's attention. "Can I help you?" He asks without a shred of his prior suave.

Her hands rest in her lap, holding her gaze. "That wasn't fair," she whispers.

"Come again?"

"What you did to Kimmie," she says with conviction. "It wasn't right."

"What _I_ did?" Forest jabs himself in the chest. "Ask your pal Kimmie for her thoughts on the topic. All I did was expose a fraud."

Brianna gives a short, shocking laugh. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"Are you that dense, Kanto girl?" Wow, what a gentleman. "She's not a—"

"I don't care about that. I care that you played with her. You went _out of your way_ to make her look pathetic. What, you think you're so great just because you have a Mega Stone on you? It doesn't give you the right to beat other people's Pokemon like that. What you did was cruel."

"Cruel," Zack Forest repeats. He chews the words in his stubbly mouth. "I don't entirely agree. Though if you're so riled up at me, feel free to express it in our match."

"Sorry. You don't scare me." That's my girl.

"I don't need to, Brianna. You scare yourself." He turns his body just slightly. They're both still sitting, somehow. "It's how you fight. You're the little girl that apologizes to her Pokemon before making them battle. You're afraid.

"Though considering what Blevins has riding on you, _and_ what you're up against in a few minutes..." His grin is nauseating. "Maybe you're not as valley-girl as you look."

He's right about one thing. There are minutes to go.

The referees are clearing the stadium, filling craters and preparing to watch Brianna Rowell and Zack Forest go head-to-head. And before that happens, I must understand—

—And suddenly I wish I didn't.

It all comes together so beautifully, so simply, that it terrifies me.

I created the Nuzlocke Challenge as a formal way of giving Pokemon Trainers my power. Any Legendary is capable of doing this, but only I have mastered it. Other attempts...well, Team Galactic did not fare so well in their attempt. Legendaries are stellar learners. We do not make the same mistake twice.

Mewtwo fought a previous Locker. Not only was he soundly beaten, but with the help of the Bird Trio, he was sealed. As I just said, we are _stellar_ learners.

...Zack Forest held no Mega Stone.

The room's display blinked to life. The icons for Brianna and Forest rose to the top of the match outline and suddenly filled the screen. A montage of their victories, accompanied with the most outrageous battle music, set the atmosphere. The audience roar shook the room.

Brianna stood. She met Forest at the stadium entrance.

I had to stop her.

If I did not warn her now, all would be lost.

I did not know _exactly _ what rode on this match, but if the stakes were so high as for my brother to send in a Nuzlocke Challenger of his _own_—

I could not reveal myself. That would be the easiest route, to be sure. But I would appear before Forest, as well as before the entire Two Island community.

So, I must do what I have only done twice before. Not since she was a child, and not since she met Lance at the Indigo Plateau.

But I know right away that if I do so, I not only drain my own powers for the inevitable fight with my brother, but I alert him to me. Mewtwo will expect me to do this. I play into his hands if I warn my Locker or if I don't.

I will be telling him: I know. It will anger him.

...I think I want to anger him. I focus.

One moment, she is walking up the steps to take her place in the arena. In the next, Brianna's world fills to white. The world disappears and she is spirited to another reality entirely.

She stands in calming absolution.

The space is familiar. More familiar to her than her old bedroom, in fact. This space is comforting. It is _safe_.

"The Way Between Worlds," Brianna muses. The shaking adrenaline is speeding up her words. Before she even sees me, she speaks: "Hello, Mew."

I float before her. "Hello, Brianna," I say. "It has been a while."

"It has." Her sweet grin stabs me.

She shrugs her shoulders. "Is...Is everything...why am I here? Did I do something wrong?" Her thoughts fly. "Is this about telling my cousin about—"

"Telling Sophie was a fine decision," I reassure her. "I am sorry for being abrupt, but we do not have time. I feel my brother's presence on my own. He is trying to push you from this space, to keep us from speaking."

"Your brother?"

"That is not important right now." Not right _now_. "Brianna, listen closely."

I cannot speak right away. Mewtwo is working against me: his psychic energy is pushing me back, invisible hands pressing on the flesh of my mind. He has been here before; I am more and more right as the seconds go by. Brianna fills the silence:"I'm listening."

I tell her the only thing I have ever offered. I give her the truth.

"I have brought you here because, if you do not do something right now, every one of your Pokemon will be killed."

And this gets her attention.

* * *

This chapter and the one immediately after have been the most fun writing I have done in some time. Please, let me know what you think! And, like always, thanks for getting this far with the story.


	10. Brianna III

The Summer of Two Island

…

Chapter 10 – Brianna III

No Locker is perfect.

I do not kid myself when I select humanity's heroes. I followed Brianna for so long, long before she even contemplated hating her family, because she had flaws and I needed to know them. I have yet to choose a hero who could not handle the responsibility. I do not believe I have done so yet.

That is not to say I have not seen heroes fall. Again, no Locker is perfect.

And again, I do not believe this will happen now.

When I tell Brianna about her impending defeat, the rush of emotions passes through us both. This is the magic of the Way Between Worlds: the space unites its inhabitants in a universal field, where we are one in more ways than we are not. Please, do not try to understand it. It does not matter.

What does matter is the raw fear that Brianna, bless her heart, fights to push away.

The white space responds to her memories. We stand on pavement, surrounded by radiant trees in the prime of spring. Before us looms the crimson skyscraper that would change Brianna more than she yet knew: the Indigo Plateau, headquarters of the Kanto Pokemon League and base of its Elite Four.

Brianna shuts her eyes. I pray she keeps them that way. When a very energetic, very formidable Jolteon materializes and rushes between us, I _pray_ she does not see.

This is no ordinary Jolteon. He looks up at me and smiles.

I respond. Of course I remember you, Two-Bit.

I remember the other Pokemon that appear as well. I am immortal, and just as I am aware that these specters are a far cry from restored life, I know that they would cause Brianna only pain. These heroes have been long gone, but when do we ever forget those left behind?

They appear in their familiar order, marching from the belt of a past Brianna and into this plane.

Beside Two-Bit is Niccola, Brianna's Nidoqueen. Proud, olympian Niccola, who held off so many of Lance's Dragonite army before finally succumbing.

Johnny Cade, her Lapras, glides along the impossible area above us. Acquired thanks to a loophole in the Locker rules, it was a gift in Silph Co. This one would hit her the worst: Johnny Cade was no less than her _third_ replacement water-type Pokemon. She had sworn she would never use another water Pokemon.

Cherry, Brianna's Sandslash, rolls before her and spreads its coils. Cherry's defeat was close to last, I remember with heartbreak. We have all heard it before: 'Stall him for one turn'. Cherry did just that.

Finally, mighty Primeape Wilhelmina appears before me. Along with Cherry and Sawyer, the three of them carried Brianna's Challenge from Pewter City all the way into Saffron City. Unbreakable friends to the end.

That Sawyer cannot join his friends in this picture, no matter how false it is, pains me. It would be the reunion all families crave.

These are not the only friends that she has lost, by far. But this was the team. _The_ team.

And the Elite Four had broken them. Broken them and scattered the remains to the winds.

Two-Bit vanishes from us first. I blame myself: due to the Locker conditions, Brianna never had an opportunity to capture a grass-type Pokemon. Sawyer barely came out of the battle with Ice-Mistress Lorelei alive. Two-Bit was not so lucky.

Johnny Cade and Wilhelmina go next. Bruno's fighting Pokemon proved too strong for the former, and Wilhelmina's desperation got the better of _her_ at the subsequent opponent, Elite Four Koga. Neither Pokemon regretted their defeat. Wilhelmina, interestingly enough, only regretted having but one life to give. Not many creatures, human or Pokemon, can boast the sentiment.

...Then it was time for Lance.

The scene changes. I watch as the world warps around myself and my Locker, as well as Cherry and Niccola, into a pale yellow hallway. White beams illuminate our path to a final door.

This was where Brianna steadied herself. For the first time, she prepared for defeat.

At this point, she had lost half of her team. Sawyer had taken on heavy wounds and his fire techniques were almost out of energy; Niccola's speed was never meant to contend with the notorious dragons; Cherry, at full strength, was only a Sandslash in a battle of top-tier Pokemon.

When this happened, I just barely resisted the urge to pull her into this place. To tell her the consequences of her future defeat.

A normal Trainer is allowed to try again. For a Locker, defeat—like everything else in their life—meant much more.

Were Brianna to experience a total party kill—a White-Out—she would be crippled. First, she would be unable to hear and connect to me. Next, her connection to all Pokemon would go. Never again would she hear a Pokemon's name, would she bear that intimacy which she still shares with Sawyer, which she enjoys with Dawson and Gabby.

But due to her accepting me at all, she would be ruined for Pokemon Training _without_ that name-based intimacy. Issuing orders to a Pokemon without that connection would be like screaming at a deaf man in another language.

If Brianna lost here, she would no longer be a Pokemon Trainer. She could never be one again.

And what life waited for her beyond the Nuzlocke Challenge? Return to parents that have long-since written her off as the anomaly of their fastidious lives? Find work when her peers busied themselves in studies?

Integrate into a world that, for Brianna, had never allowed it before?

...Obviously, none of this was encouraging. I held my tongue, and Brianna went into what may have been her final battle.

You would be surprised how theatrical real life can be. In the end, when Lance was left with his mighty Gyarados, and bodies of numerous Dragonite had fallen along those of mighty Locker Pokemon...And like in that harrowing beginning in an alleyway of Celedon City, it had all come down to Brianna and Sawyer.

The room changes again, this time resembling the aftermath of the tragic confrontation. Craters four, five feet deep line the walls and the ground. Rubble everywhere. Lights hanging from the ceiling. Wall foundation singed to a worrying thinness.

Niccola and Cherry vanish from us, reflecting the room's events. Brianna finally opens her eyes.

I have to stop her.

If she speaks, she will go into herself.

She will become what she was after the first death in Veridian Forest, after she left this place with one Pokemon and a title in exchange for five other lives.

Brianna will become unusable. It is cruel, but it is the truth.

I speak.

"I am telling you now so that you can prevent this outcome. I am warning you so that you can continue to serve your civilization as its hero."

"How?" She pleads. "How can I stop it?" She does not notice this room, does not notice as it changes to a final stage. The Two Island Stadium.

The graves of Dawson the Raticate and Gabby the Fearow, if she did not change something.

"Answer me!" Brianna screams. And when she comes back to her soft-spoken self, it is a whisper. "Help me."

I cannot do that.

It would be to intervene. She knows on her own anyway: there is only one option. The one she never intended, but which she prepared for nonetheless. I cannot tell her what she must do; I can only suggest.

"There is only one move left to play," I say.

"I can't use him," she begs. "I made a promise." And now Brianna cracks open, clenching her fists and shouting. "You saw me! I told Sawyer I'd never make him fight again!"

"Brianna, please—"

"Sophie looks at me like I'm a busted-up mess because my Pokemon die. They _die, _Mew."

"I understand—"

"I know you do, but you don't understand Sawyer. I lost Pokemon, but he's lost brothers. His brothers and sisters died so much, so often...Kanto is a graveyard to him. If anyone deserves to survive this, it's him. Not me. All I do is bark orders and send innocent creatures to die for me...Sawyer is the hero.

"He has to survive this," she says finally.

Without warning, I crash to the ground. There _is_ a ground here. I never knew that, I think with a smile.

"Mew! What happened?!"

"My brother," I say. I realize I have said too much.

"Brianna, I do not have time to console you. We are being pushed from this space." And true to form, the Way Between Worlds blurs. Two Island Stadium returns to its white base state, and from there the color blurs. Brianna steels herself. Our linked wills take hold, our hands held tight in the rapids.

"How am I supposed to beat Mega Blaziken?" She yells. Whatever is screaming in my mind has come to hers. "What _is_ Mega Blaziken?"

"I cannot explain here. It is fueled by the same powers that run through your Charizard, through Sawyer," I hurry.

"Like...Like a Mega Stone?"

"No, Brianna, _not_ like a Mega Stone. He is using something similar to our relationship to simulate the powers of the Blazikenite." My voice strains. My retinas blaze, but I know that if I shut my eyes, I will pull us both from here.

Brianna reaches to hold me. Her hands pass through my body: we have already lost our physical representations. "I don't understand. How would Zack Forest get power like yours to trigger Mega Evo—"

She stops speaking. Seconds later, the Way Between Worlds ejects us entirely and she stands back in Two Island Stadium's green room. No time has passed. Forest marches silently, confidently behind her, and when they meet the adoring audience and the war-torn stage, Brianna and Forest take their positions easily.

No Locker is perfect. But I have always known: Brianna was destined for this. The moment when her head clears and she understands—Zack Forest fights under his own version of a Nuzlocke Challenge contract—confirms her fate.

"Final Round!" That obnoxious announcer drawls. He thanks the sponsors, the multiple half-time performers, and the cable networks for broadcasting to mainland Kanto. He promotes the special-edition snacks, reminds audiences to refrain from riots should their preferred contestant lose...and then the 'ultimate showdown' music plays.

"In this corner! Hailing from far off in the Hoenn region! Age twenty-one—barely legal, ladies!—he's captured his fans' hearts with the same skill seen in his outstanding Hall of Fame conquest. Not even slowing down after becoming Frontier Brain, he seems poised to become Two Island Champion! It's Zack Forest!

"And opposite him...who will stand alone to stop his rise to the championship title?"

Stand alone. He had to say it like that, didn't he?

"At just seventeen years of age, with a Hall of Fame barely two months old, she hails from nearby Kanto. She's the girl who brought down Giovanni of Team Rocket, who prevented the Alpha Incident and saved the world at the Power Plant—"

Zapdos owes me for that, by the way.

"—Can she score her first post-Championship title? Or will Zack Forest send her all the way back home? It's Brianna Rowell!

"Pokemon Trainers—

"No! Pokemon Masters...Win or lose? Let's rock! Battle start!"

Zack Forest has his first Pokeball ready. It's not Gardevoir's Pokeball, and it's not Blaziken's, either. Brianna sees it.

The debate in her head is not to send in Sawyer, and for good cause. For not the first time, she has outmaneuvered me. Forest is planning on beating the Charizard first. No sell, Forest.

When his Pelliper bursts onto the scene, hovering in the white light and only becoming visible as the teal highlights to its feathers glisten, Forest thinks this is done. His smirk disappears when Brianna's Fearow soars opposite his own fowl.

"A Water Pokemon," Brianna says. If there is fear in her voice—the same fear in every battle—it is masked masterfully. "Were you waiting for a Fire Pokemon?"

"I misjudged you," Forest says.

"You mean you thought I was intimidated."

"That I did," Forest laughs. "You're apparently not. It's surprising."

"You'll find I'm full of surprises. Gabby, Drill Peck!"

"Pelliper, follow it. Steel Wing."

Forest's Pokemon are strong, but with my power, Gabby is an invisible blur. Poor Pelliper does the smart thing: it stays in one place, waits for the invisible opponent to make a move, and lines up its Steel Wing strike. It's smart.

It's also too late.

Gabby's long, chipped beak is jackhammering away at its' enemy's back flesh, showing no mercy even as Pelliper nosedives and wails in agony. Gabby glides away—it is no bully—and waits for its mark to fly back up.

Forest is shaken. But only just.

Just enough to forget his strategy—to save his Water Pokemon for Sawyer—and risk losing it over his pride.

"Get up," he barks. Pelliper can only just hear over its own frantic heartbeat. "Hydro Pump."

To its credit, Pelliper does not waver. It attempts to find Gabby in the sky, but again, it is a wash. The bronze feathers vanish just as Pelliper's eyes pass over them.

Brianna sees the hopelessness in Pelliper's eyes. No Pokemon deserves to be hurt any more than necessary.

"Aerial Ace," she commands.

Pelliper is on its side, rolling along the stage and into unconsciousness before it knows what has happened.

"What a start!" The announcer bellows. "Brianna opens with an iron offensive! Let's hope Forest has something else up his sleeve!"

"Of course I do," he says. He returns his fallen fowl to its Pokeball, then removes another. "Brianna," he calls.

"What's wrong? Giving up?" She taunts. I miss this Brianna; the girl who faces conflict head-on. The one who does not need her cousin's backbone, because her own is steel. The girl Casey has brought out in such brief bursts.

"Put your Fearow away," he commands. "My next Pokemon will be Blaziken."

The audience goes into conniptions. The shrieks drown out that inane announcer.

"Let us put on a show," he suggests. "It's cruel to deny the crowd, you know."

Forest is not kidding. He flips the ball repeatedly, proving to her and the crowd—and myself—that he holds Blaziken's Pokeball. The Blaziken amplified by Nuzlocke-esque powers to unnaturally access its Mega stage.

There are so many questions. Will it suffer the same consequence of using Nuzlocke powers that Brianna's Pokemon do? Or is this an entirely different Challenge, a wholly different contract?

Fearow returns to its ball. The next one flies out of Brianna's hands quickly. With mechanoid speed, in fact. Her arm acts on its own. She herself is surprised, almost horrified when Dawson the Raticate takes the stage.

The audience is torn. The half that is not jeering, that is not taking a bathroom break, is applauding further. Brianna's Raticate is a crowd-pleaser.

"Sorry." Forest looks up and into the crowd. "I tried." Then: "Blaziken, go!"

The crimson fighting Pokemon stands on its mighty legs, talon hands stretched. It stares down its short beak into Dawson's small, beady eyes. Dawson twitches his nose, wiggles his whiskers. He knows the threat, knows the stakes...but he is excited. Finally, he thinks. A worthy opponent.

Commands fumble over one another—

"Hyper Fang!" and "Power-Up Punch!"

—And both Pokemon begin their violent tango. Dawson weaves through the blows, jumping with limitless energy at each swipe of the talon fist. He twists at one unexpected jump and dives into Blaziken, deathly-sharp teeth aimed perfectly.

It's a hit!

Dawson lands perfectly beside Blaziken, and seizing the moment when its prey clutches to the deep gash in its chest, he moves again. He doesn't wait for the command, he is more in sync with Brianna than ever before—

The crowd goes wild! Another direct hit! Blaziken stumbles to its knees, and Dawson is back on the starting line. Jumping from paw to paw, ready to end this.

Brianna's gaze wanders, if only for a moment, to the display. Blaziken's health has fallen to less than a fifth of its start. This opponent was far above Kimmie's level, but Dawson's Challenge-aided skill is another story.

She can win. The fleeting thought is the panacea to her wounds that not even Sophie and Casey can heal.

It is a salve on her soul. She can _win_.

In this reprieve, Brianna gives herself one mistake—

One simple mistake—

She dares to hope.

"Dawson, finish this!" Her every word is laced with adrenaline. "Last one! Hyper Fang!"

Dawson responds in kind. Waits for Blaziken to move, waits for any sign of counterattack, and leaps to close the distance—

Forest snaps his fingers.

"We've had quite enough of this," he says coolly.

If that doesn't make the blood drain from Brianna's face, Blaziken standing unscathed to backhand her Raticate across the stage does just that.

Dawson's health bar falls into the red immediately, all the way from full. And that wasn't even an _attack_.

When the stars fade from Dawson's vision, Blaziken is marching toward him, slowly. Measuring him.

Brianna is silent. At the absolutely worst possible time. Her jaw hangs slack open, a parody of old cartoons, and her eyes even begin to glaze. There had been no hope. Dawson was not causing damage. He was practice.

The seconds tick away, each one beating longer than the other. What can she do? Whatever Blaziken plans to do with Dawson, it would be no different with Gabby. Her Pokemon were strong, but they were just evolved common Kanto critters. Kimmie had brought her A-game and been thrashed. What did Brianna have?

She burrowed into herself. Exactly what I had tried to prevent, and thanks to the nature of the Challenge, I could not snap her out of it.

Blaziken reaches down, and when Dawson regains feeling and attempts to move, its executioner's arm flashes and grips the brave Raticate by its skull. Blaziken holds it in front of its expressionless face. Examining. Learning. Judging.

The audience roar fails to register. Dawson's limp helplessness, the looming end of Two Island Ranch, Brianna's probably white-out and the end of this independent life...it all crashes. A toxic waterfall, choking the life out of the poor girl.

Blaziken throws Dawson into the sky. And just like with Kimmie's battle, the warrior moves before Forest's commands hit the air.

"Brave Bird." Zack snaps his fingers. And Brianna shuts her eyes.

The impact echoes, and then _booms_ through the stadium speakers. It passes through her like a gentle breeze back home. The graceful putter of Blaziken's feet on the stage goes unnoticed.

One sound reaches her: the soft splatter of Dawson's corpse as it hits the ground.

Forest grins. "One down," he says.

The constant, prodding screams of the on-lookers drops off. Brianna is not pulling her Pokemon back. What's the hold-up? Why is she dallying? Get on with it! None question why that fainted Pokemon isn't twitching, isn't _breathing_. They want a show.

The human bloodlust should no longer surprise me, but there it is.

With shaking hands, Brianna reaches for Dawson's Pokeball. She fumbles it, and the shining sphere rolls at her feet. She crouches down to take it, but she does not stand. The red light flashes and Dawson returns to the ball.

Brianna folds her legs under her. She does the most difficult thing: she breathes.

In, out.

In, out.

Just breathe, Brianna. Just breathe.

"Don't tell me this is a surrender," the announcer jeers.

Brianna hugs her knees. Don't think about it, child. Don't let the images of Dawson—young Dawson, little level fourteen Rattata Dawson—come to your mind. Push away how you met him after the Elite Four, in the fields outside of that unexplored patch of Pallet Town. Ignore the months spend training, reject the memories of shared late nights, early mornings, poison scares and critical hit surprises.

Forget how Casey flattered him, called him a fearsome warrior.

Beg forgiveness for how she relied on Dawson to see her through.

_Plead_ for forgiveness. Sending him to fight Blaziken was a death sentence, and Brianna knew it. She would rather send one friend to the grave than break a promise to another...but wasn't all life the same? Wasn't the loss of any life the worst consequence on this planet?

Brianna is back on that lonely street in Celedon City. The crowd, Zack Forest, Blaziken are all gone and she is twelve again, she is a twelve-year-old girl standing tall over bloodied little boy bodies, releasing unknown anger. She could not prevent her parents' control and her classmates' cruelty, and after all these years, nothing has changed. The enemy has changed. Her parents are just two other people in this wide, wonderful Pokemon World, and now she hides from death. And once again, she is a powerless little girl, full of worthless rage, unable to change a thing.

The hospitalized boys...did they every recover?

Her Pokemon...her Niccola, Two-Bit, Cherry, Johnny Cade and Dawson and Laci and Link and Miles and Richard, were they dead? Really dead?

Only I hear it. The microphone clipped to her shirt would never be strong enough to pick up the broken child's plea.

"I kill everything I touch."

It wasn't just her Pokemon, either. What kind of _relationships_ did she even have? Had she bothered cultivating any kind of intimacy? These teenage years, when she was supposed to be in her social prime...had she even so much as _looked_ at a boy?

The crippling loneliness during that month spent wandering Viridian Forest, the bleak maze of Mt. Moon and the even much later, staring at the pale waves leading to Cinnabar Island rushes back. She was not born awkward, she did not always have to try so hard. It may have been middle school, but Brianna still spoke to people every day. And people still spoke to her.

If she lost every single Pokemon, if she left Two Island right now...would any living creature on this world ever speak to her?

"I kill _everything_ I touch..."

Forest cups his ear. "What is that? I can't hear you, Bri."

Help the helpless. Become righteous. Achieve glory. These were the promises she took when she accepted the Challenge.

...But had she really _accepted_ it? There was no _choice_. The option was to have those men in that busted alley do with Brianna what old men are wont to do with defenseless children. Even if she survived, her family would be so mad, so angry, so _enraged_ that if her life wasn't already a living hell, it would certainly become so.

She accepted killing so many innocent Pokemon to save her own skin.

All but one.

Gabby was still alive, but sending her in would make this time just like the others. Where she was left to only one.

Sawyer remained.

Sawyer, her first and her last companion in this scenic journey through hell. When she nearly whited-out against Giovanni in that climactic Silph Co battle, it had been Sawyer who put a stop to the slaughter. Niccola, Cherry and Two-Bit wounded, Dallas the Gyarados killed and only Sawyer stood up to Giovanni's Rhyhorn. Refusing to let this be done to his family.

...Had Brianna been any better to Sawyer's family than Giovanni?

...Yes. Because at the end of the day, one emotion powered Brianna through these defeats. She hates it. _Hates_ it. It fuels her the way a damp log fuels a fire, casting smog and choking the user but keeping it alive just enough to function. You don't have to breathe, Brianna. But you have to live.

She wants revenge. Like revenge on Cassidy and Sally, revenge against those boys and the men in the alley, against Giovanni and the Elite Four and her parents and each and every gym leader and Trainer along the way.

"I can't _hear_ you!" Forest mocks again.

Bad move.

"I _said_," Brianna says at a low, guttural growl. "I'm going to kill your Blaziken." Then, a smile. _That_ smile. "Try and stop me."

The same panic he instilled in Kimmie Gracie Cole, the same worry that her secret was gone and she had been laid bare to the world, it rushes at him. Forest nearly loses his cool...nearly. He takes pride in his unnatural powers.

So like my brother.

He utters one of the more foul words in your language.

And then the Pokeball is flying into the ring. The crowd, the Two Island employees, the Adelsons and everyone watching from their sofas hold their breath. The ball breaks—

Brianna takes a quick breath: "I'm sorry—"

The proud orange wings extend first. They span the width of the arena in their full breadth, then retract with his heaving lungs. His legs, thick like tree trunks and hard as stone, yet bright as the morning sun dig into the ground. The pointed nails at the end of his juggernaut claws stretch. A steady line of green air leaves his nostrils and he sucks in fresh oxygen, the fresh air of combat.

He curls his body in for a quick moment—

The roar puts the humans' atomic bomb to shame. To their credit, they ignite the air with their lungs right back at him.

Sawyer the Charizard tenses his muscles. And then he turns on Blaziken.

"Finally," Forest grins. "Blaziken! It's time."

He wastes no time, I remark to nobody. The supernatural light surrounds, then engulfs Blaziken just as before. It shatters and flies into nothingness, and Mega Blaziken stands tall. The flame trails that bandage and trail at its wrists burn with the same ferocity as the blaze on Sawyer's tail.

...I worry.

Brianna's Charizard is a Flying Pokemon, weak to the physical blows to which Mega Blaziken excels. And at the same time, Forest's hubris significantly weakened his prize fighter.

Forest expects to take the first move, to get the drop on the little girl across from him. He does not know the old phrase about women scorned, apparently. Too bad for him.

Or rather, too bad for Mega Blaziken.

"Flamethrower, Sawyer!"

The torrent of orange and cobalt flame streams from Sawyer's unhinged jaw. Mega Blaziken is fast; it tears into the sky and readies a strike.

Forest commands: "Brick Break."

Brianna and I recall together the painful, agonizing blow dealt to Kimmie's Blaziken. Brianna shakes her head.

Her yells are hardened, her panic and fear replaced with courage. The strength she herself does not know she has. "Fly! Now!"

It is just as planned: Sawyer folds himself into his wings and bounds upward, meeting Mega Blaziken's fist with the unyielding iron of its hide. Mega Blaziken stumbles in the air and Sawyer requires no order: he dives into the enemy, snapping his jaws and swiping. The limber enemy dodges all but one strike, a singing Fire Fang.

When it lands, it has to stand on both legs. One fist clutches its side.

Forest sees the wound, gauges the danger. Mega Blaziken cannot use all of its lean muscle to strike if it is holding in its innards. But calling back for Gardevoir will buy him nothing, because what could _possibly_ stand against such a beast as Brianna's Charizard?

His eyes dance in his skull. Forest needs time. He must think—

That would qualify as mercy. Brianna has none, not for Dawson's murderer. "Wing Attack!"

Sawyer dives to Earth. Mega Blaziken thinks it knows its enemy's attack, expects the outstretched wings to simply buffer him. Countering with a Sky Uppercut would end the bout—

Brianna's avenger flips its entire body just as it enters Mega Blaziken's space. Wing Attack? More like a Wing Body Slam. Mega Blaziken slams into the ground and grinds against it, the impact pushing its bruised body through the concrete and into the earth underneath.

"No!" Forest cries, his demeanor broken at last. "Mega Blaziken! Stand up!"

"Forest!"

The words reach him, but only just. The desperate heaves of a beaten Blaziken preoccupy him.

Sawyer looms over the exposed, endangered Mega Blaziken. The attack does not come.

"Surrender," Brianna orders. The bloodlust, the appetite for vengeance fades and Brianna, sweet hazel Brianna returns to form. "I need you to surrender, Zack."

Forest chokes a laugh. "...You have to be _kidding_."

"I'm not. I know what you have riding on this battle, and I don't mean the championship, or some lame cash prize." She sighs. "I _know_."

"What could you possibly—"

"I know that your mega evolution is...serious." She shows him the courtesy he showed to Kimmie before. Not revealing Kimmie's past, not revealing Mega Blaziken's Challenge contract. The kindness of vague statements.

"So I'm giving you this chance. Surrender...please. _Please_. Surrender. Don't make Sawyer end this the way it has to end."

How Zack Forest would love to obey. The thought fills him the way water fills a drowning man's lungs, filling them and seeping out through the flesh.

And then it's gone. Psychic energy courses through Forest's veins, a painful flash that sears my senses. And Forest points to Sawyer's unprotected belly. "You're open!"

Mewtwo, what are you _doing_?

"Sky Uppercut!" Forest howls. A cowardly, fearful howl. "Sky Uppercut, damnit!"

...God bless Mega Blaziken. It stands and, through the pain of being literally dragged through stone, takes its stance. By all means, it should be down for the count.

Brianna wants to be merciful. She does not want to cause it pain, the way Kimmie's Blaziken or the way Dawson had experienced it. But if she is lenient, if she is merciful at the wrong time, Sawyer could—

No.

Mega Blaziken's attack is sloppy. The set-up is broadcast wide, detectable from a mile away. It's a shadow of its former self. A pathetic, slow and staggering shade. Even then, Sawyer narrowly avoids the arcing Sky Uppercut technique. Even on its last limbs, Mega Blaziken could take Sawyer out.

There was only one way to end this.

"Sawyer?" She has to shout the words, shout to the heavens and to her fallen friends, or else she won't go through with it. "Sawyer, Blast Burn!"

Mega Blaziken's Sky Uppercut, for the uninitiated, does have a lag time associated to it. The only Pokemon capable of the technique are normally speedy enough to cancel out the delay, but a dying Mega Blaziken struggles to even hold its head up. When its striking arm hangs limp in the air, Mega Blaziken knows.

I can only hope there was minimal pain...but the eternal inferno of Blast Burn gives me grave doubt.

The stadium explodes into adoration. Bottles fly, fireworks singe the evening sky, music booms and damn _confetti_ sprinkles from above.

"That's a wrap!" The announcer finally calls. "Brianna Rowell is Two Island's Champion!"

Mega Blaziken is not retired to its Pokeball. Mewtwo's brief presence in Zack Forest fades, and the boy—yes, the _boy—_crawls to his old friend. His open sobs are lost in the commotion.

Lost to everyone but Brianna and Sawyer, who have seen this all before. And she can't help but wonder: how long until she has to see this in herself, for that one last time?

* * *

Let me know what you think! These recent chapters have been an absolute thrill ride. All of the set-up in the earlier chapters is coming to that satisfying climax. 

As always, if you make it this far, I'm crazy flattered to have captivated you this long.


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